


Sunflower Love

by hhopp



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Africa, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Asexual Castiel (Supernatural), Bisexual Dean Winchester, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dean Winchester and Feelings, F/M, Fights, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Castiel, Happy Castiel, Happy Dean Winchester, Hester Novak's A+ Parenting, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Making Up, Nerd Castiel, No Smut, Roommates, Sad Castiel, Sad Dean Winchester, Smart Dean Winchester, Sunflowers, Sweet Dean Winchester, Tattooed Castiel, Tattoos, Volunteer Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 11:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 48,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12319914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hhopp/pseuds/hhopp
Summary: Over the course of human history, there have been billions of love stories. There is no reason that this one should be special, except that it is.They met. They grew together, they made each other better people. They laughed. They cried. They fought and they made up. They helped people (and went around the world to do it). Dean and Cas were a part of each other. And after all, isn’t that what all of us look for?





	1. PART ONE: Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow... what a ride! I've been working on this since the day after the challenge opened and working until a few hours until my posting window closes. I've made a lot of friends through the DCBB community, spent a lot more time indoors this summer than I probably would have without this fic (okay, scratch that. Who do I think I'm kidding?), and changed a lot as a person the past several months. Dean and Cas have seen me through all of it. 
> 
> Lots of thanks and hugs to manifestingwings (AKA the fantastic Mel) for betaing and cheerleading and harplesscastiel for art (see final chapter)! I don't know where this project would be without you guys.

Dean loved Mrs. Mills, really, he did, but the woman could drone forever. It wasn’t even a hard class, he could probably ace it without even attending, if it weren’t for these stupid biweekly pairs essays. 

 

“Alright. I guess you’d all like to know who you’re paired with.” _Finally_. “We’ll do… let’s see. Ash and Jo, Bela and Meg, Cas and Dean—” He tuned out after he heard his name and looked across the drafty classroom to find his partner. The other boy was wearing a blue sweater and his dark hair stuck up in at least three different directions— had the guy ever even seen a comb before? 

 

Without warning, Cas spun around in his seat to face him. His eyes were arresting; blue, shockingly bright and very intense. Dean lifted his hand in a little wave and received a pointed nod in response. 

 

When the bell signaled their freedom, Dean hurried out of the classroom before Cas could catch him. Yeah, it was an important project and yeah, he was probably being a jerk about this, but damn if that boy wasn’t hot, and he knew he’d screw it up if he tried to talk to him. Dean didn’t know him very well, just that he made straight A’s and tended to sit alone at lunch. They hadn’t ever had an opportunity to talk, although something about the guy had always intrigued him. 

 

The rest of the day eased by, and he did his best not to think about his Econ partner. He found the most success in this when he elected, instead, to think about his incomplete college apps. It was senior year, deadlines were in a few months, and he still hadn’t decided where (or if) he wanted to go. His stress was valid. 

 

Another day passed that way, and then the weekend. 

 

He was sitting at lunch on Tuesday when Cas stalked up, looking pissed. 

 

“Dean.” He wasn’t easily intimidated, but there was something steely in those shockingly bright eyes that made him a bit nervous. The rapid drumming of his heart in his chest and the butterflies in his stomach did nothing to help. His friends quieted. “We need to talk.”

 

“Um. Sure, Cas, what’s up?”

 

“We need to meet to work on our project. It’s due in two weeks and worth 10% of my grade. I don’t know what your problem is with me, but there is no way I’m going to fail this class because of you.” Jo snorted and Dean threw her a glare.

 

“Fine,” he snipped, “library after school?”

 

“That sounds fine. I’ll see you then, I suppose.” As Cas retreated, Dean’s friends began to snicker behind their hands. 

 

“Not a word, you jerks.” Jo’s naturally skinny eyebrow arched up and she and Ash exchanged glances. Dean stared resolutely at his crumpled paper lunch sack and gouged a bite out of his apple. 

 

The clock defied his telepathic orders to go slowly and before long, he was trudging through the stale air of the back staircase to meet his partner. His backpack weighed him down with every step— why, again, did he decide to take the US history class with the massive textbook this semester? Finally, he reached the door and dragged it open. _Let’s do this_. 

 

He wandered through the shelves, coughing at the dust, hoping to find Cas quickly. In the back corner by the biographies, the guy was nestled in a bean bag chair with a laptop balanced on one knee, a foam coffee cup on the other, and what must’ve been some really great music in his earbuds. He mouthed along with it, dark hair flopping up and down with the nods of his head. Dean cleared his throat to get his attention.

 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said as he looked up, tugging the white cords out of his ears. The corners of his mouth turned up and Dean found himself smiling in response, despite his endeavors to put up an emotional barrier between them. He didn’t want to date in high school; a relationship was the furthest thing from what he wanted or needed. 

 

“Hi, Cas.”

 

Dean took the bean bag next to him and they got started. They fell into a sort of rhythm; he would get books from one shelf or another and find useful pieces of information, then Cas would type it into their paper. He had a way with words, his slender fingers dancing across the keys and forming elaborate paragraphs that were almost fun to read— and that was saying something. Dean hated Econ. 

 

Every so often, Cas would crack a joke, or say something with a sly smile that had Dean shaking with laughter for a good couple of minutes. A few hours passed without either of them realizing, and they would have stayed longer if it weren’t for the librarian pushing them out the door with a regretful smile and a, “You have a good night, boys.”

 

“So… same time tomorrow?”

 

“I can’t. Choir practice,” Cas said. He counted off on his fingers before asking, “Does Friday work?” 

 

“Sure. Need a ride home?”

 

They spent the walk to the parking lot close together in companionable silence, shoulders not quite touching and the backs of their hands brushing together every now and then. Dean’s was the only car left when they got there, the black and silver stark against the grey asphalt. When they clambered in, bags tossed into the backseat, Cas may or may not have been sitting a little closer than was strictly necessary. Dean certainly wasn’t going to complain. 

 

Two hours ago, he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t let this become a _thing_. He was terrible at sticking to decisions like that, though— so when he flew over a speed bump and his cute partner fell into his side, he had to concentrate very hard on taming the butterflies in his chest. Or, no, the butterflies were supposed to be in his stomach. They were there, too. It was just a mess. A very confusing mess and _no,_ he was not going to call the mess a crush. 

 

Could’ve been worse. This could’ve been his first guy not-a-crush. 

 

(Freshman year had been a disaster. In between always getting lost in the G building and trying to scrape a B in biology, sophomore Aaron Bass had caught his eye. Like any other completely irrational teenaged boy, he freaked out. Then he talked to his mother, which turned out to be one of the best decisions of his adolescent experience. Talking to his dad hadn’t gone over quite as well. Long story short, his dad wasn’t around much anymore. He didn’t want to talk about it.)

 

“Hey, Cas?” Alright, time to do something really stupid. Cas hummed in acknowledgment and turned away from the window. “Are you, um… well—”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Straight?” 

 

Cas blushed all the way up to his hairline and his shockingly bright eyes got very, very nervous. “W-what? What have you heard?”

 

“Huh? Nothing, I haven’t heard anything, Cas, I just thought that maybe… You know what, forget it. Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to freak you out or anything.” 

 

He bit his tongue, his teeth digging in until he tasted blood. He could see Cas out of the corner of his eye, but refused to make eye contact. That is, until a hand landed on his knee before jerking back as if it were a hot skillet. When he tore his eyes from the road and let his gaze land on his passenger, his face was still bright red but it was also full of sincerity. 

 

“You haven’t freaked me out, Dean. You’re actually right, I’m not… I’m not. Straight.” Oh. _Oh_. “That’s… it feels really good to get that off my chest.”

 

“Is this your first time coming out?” The shy duck of his head answered the question. “Well, congrats, man. That’s kind of a big deal.”

 

“Thank you. Did I— well, you wouldn’t— nevermind. Um. Do you think I did it right?”

 

Dean smiled wryly. “I’d say so, yeah. Mine went a little different, but you got the point across and we’re both still here.” You could practically see the wheels turning in his head, eyes widening at the implication. 

 

“You’re—”

 

“I swing both ways.”

 

“Oh.” He sat back in his seat and Dean looked back to the road. “Take a left here.”

 

They turned into the parking lot of Lawrence’s sole apartment complex— a brick building near collapse, the paint on the sign peeling and window shutters yellowed. Cas’ hand shot to the door handle and Dean laid a hand on his arm. 

 

“Hey. Um… do you want to hang out? Get burgers or something? Maybe after we finish at the library on Friday.”

 

Cas blushed. “As… as a date?”

 

“Sure, if you want. Or just… just as friends.” Why was he so nervous?

 

“I think I’d like that very much, Dean. A date it is.” Cas smiled and bit the inside of his cheek, then silence fell between them. _Now what?_ Cas’ phone chimed and tore his gaze away from Dean’s eyes. “It’s my mother. She says she’ll be home in a few hours. Would you, uh, like to come up?”

 

“Sure, Cas.”

 

His apartment was modest but by no means shabby. Every trinket, corner, and flat surface looked as if it had been dusted to within an inch of its life not minutes before. A blue poster on the wall proclaimed that ‘Wrongdoers will be completely destroyed; the offspring of the wicked will perish. —Psalms 37:28.’ Hanging from a hook on what he presumed to be the laundry room door was a clear plastic dry cleaning bag containing a sharp-edged pantsuit. 

 

“You should leave your shoes by the door. Mother’s sort of a stickler for that. Come on, I’ll show you my room.”

 

“At least buy me dinner first,” he smirked and toed out of his boots. 

 

Again, Cas blushed. “I didn’t— I mean—”

 

“Relax, I’m only joking, dude.” 

 

The relieved drop of his shoulders was almost comical when his teeth appeared, digging into his lip. “Right.” 

 

Dean ended up on the bed, hanging upside down from it while Cas sat on the ground beside him. For a good hour or so, they talked about everything under the sun, from old poetry to dead hamsters. 

 

“Shoot. I’ve gotta go,” Dean muttered, looking down at a text on his phone. “Mom’s wondering where I am. See you tomorrow?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Oh, and uh… don’t be a stranger. You want to come sit with my friends and I at lunch?”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Great, that’s… great. Okay.” He smiled then bit his lip to keep anything stupid from falling out of his mouth. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

 

◎❃◎

 

On Friday morning, Dean absolutely did not stand in front of his closet for fifteen minutes trying to decide between a green henley and a flannel. Because that would be insane, and make him late for first period Econ. And he certainly didn’t spend any extra time combing and gelling his hair in the mirror. 

 

Absolutely ridiculous, what are you implying? 

 

He folded a steaming hot toaster strudel into a napkin on his way out the door, holding it between his teeth as he fumbled with the car keys— if he went the back way he could probably make it on time. 

 

No such luck, as he hustled through the doors as the tardy bell rang. Mr. Cain tapped his watch and tilted his head down the hallway at him; Dean nodded and saluted with his pastry before marching past. _Note to self, behave in fourth period._ It wasn’t often the silver-haired English teacher let a student sneak by him without a pass; he suspected that the guy had taken a liking to him. 

 

The room was abuzz with chatter when he slipped through the doorway. Jody— _it’s Mrs. Mills while you’re at school, kid_ — steadfastly ignored it as she drew a series of tables on the whiteboard. His entrance might have gone unnoticed by all if a pair of blue eyes didn’t follow him across the room to his seat. The butterflies started dancing again, and it appeared they still didn’t know where they were supposed to be situated. The corner of his lips quirked in greeting. 

 

_Where were you?_ Cas mouthed. 

 

_Overslept_. _Miss me?_ Throw in a wink for good measure and maybe slow the blush creeping up his neck. Hell, he was Dean Winchester. Why was he so nervous about this guy? 

 

_Whatever you say_. They turned to the front as Mrs. Mills cleared her throat. 

 

“Oh, Dean, nice of you to join us. How is everyone?” A mumbled chorus of ‘good,’ ‘fine,’ and ‘tired’ filtered up to the front and she rolled her eyes at the bunch. “And so enthusiastic. Well, either way, we’ve got state-mandated curriculum to get through so let’s get started.”

 

Alright. So technically Dean could understand why it might be important that he learn about budgets, but at eight o’clock in the morning, how much dough a family of four devotes to utilities is about as uninteresting as it gets. Uninteresting enough, in fact, to perhaps lay his head down on his desk. Maybe even close his eyes, just for a second. Or… a few. 

 

Next thing he knew, somebody was shaking him awake. He whined and opened his eyes. Would you look at that. Cas was standing over him, a hand still on his shoulder. 

 

“Class is over, Dean.”

 

The logical thought, here, was “Oh no, I missed the notes.” The only thing running through his mind, though, was “I hope he didn’t catch me drooling.” Dean Winchester was dedicated to academic success, as you can tell. 

 

“Oh. Thanks. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you at lunch.” Cheeks flaming, he dumped his stuff into his backpack and hurried out of the room. _Smooth, Winchester_. 

 

They finished their paper that afternoon at 4 o’clock and went straight to Rosie’s. It was a small, old school, greasy-spoon type diner, just far enough away from their part of town that it was unlikely anybody from school would be there. The place was bustling as they came in, clumps of merry people sitting and talking and eating, nobody paying any mind to the two teenaged boys pressing their sides together on the same side of the booth. 

 

“So,” he said, around a mouthful of french fry. “We trading life stories or what?” 

 

Cas pursed his (kissable, to be honest) lips and thought for a moment before speaking. “I’m 17, I’m a Virgo, I’ve got a hyper-Christian single mother who will likely disown me if I ever come out to her. I like sunflowers. Is there anything else you’d like to know?” His lips quirked up at the end of his spiel. Dean sat back in his seat, impressed. 

 

“To the point. I like a man who’s direct,” he grinned. “Well, I’m 18, I’m an Aquarius. Dad left when I came out as bi, so it’s just my mom and my kid brother and me. Flowers? Not my thing, but I’m a music person all the way. Classic rock.” 

 

“That’s nice.” Well, what are you supposed to say after that? “How old is your brother?”

 

Now Sammy, he could talk about. The guy was some sort of baby Einstein, four years younger than Dean and showing him how to do his own math homework on a near nightly basis. That, and he was actually a pretty cool kid. Dean would never forget him trying to step in and fight John on The Night. Mom, of course, had tugged him out of the way before there was any serious damage, but Dean had seen a look in his eyes that night that told him his brother would always have his back. That was a pretty good feeling to have. 

 

“Thirteen. His name’s Sam, and he’s wicked smart.” Cas let him ramble on about his brother for a bit before the waitress came back with the check. “Hey, uh, you got anywhere to be after this?”

 

“Why do you ask? Planning on kidnapping me?” he deadpanned. Dean barked a laugh. 

 

“No, I’ve just been having a lot of fun. Maybe you want to come hang at my place?”

 

“I’d like that, Dean.” He offered his hand. If you took a picture of the two of them at that moment, it would’ve looked like the start of every cheesy Hallmark teen romance flick. That normally might’ve sent alarm bells ringing in Dean’s head, but for some reason, it didn’t. He took his hand and they slid out of the booth, practically bouncing to the car. Even as he plugged the keys into the ignition with his left hand, Cas made no move to let go.

 

When the Impala rumbled to a stop in the garage, he turned. Cas looked at him, his eyebrows scrunched together. 

 

“Aren’t we going to go inside?” And God, he tilted his head. Like a puppy. Dean couldn’t help but chuckle. 

 

“Yeah, Cas, but there’s something I’ve been wanting to do all night.” He untwined their fingers and reached to cup Cas’ (very nicely shaped) jaw. “Can I kiss you?” His lips parted in what looked like… surprise? Surely Cas knew that this was what usually happened towards the end of a date. Then again, he had said it was his first date. (“Ever?” “Well… yes.”) Dean had most certainly not been nervous all evening because that made this special and it had to be perfect. 

 

Then Cas smiled, nodding a little and leaning in. Dean let his hand slide around to the back of his neck and buried his fingers in the downy dark hair as his eyes slid shut, the world narrowing to the two of them. Cas’ nose bumped his and they both jumped. 

 

“Sorry,” Cas whispered.

 

“It’s okay. I’ve got you, yeah?” Cas hesitated, then nodded. His blue eyes closed again and he sat very still, his shoulders nearly quivering with the tension. “Hey, relax,” Dean murmured against his lips, before pressing them softly together. He gave the barest hint of pressure before pulling back, swiping his thumb along his partner’s cheekbone. “Is this okay?” 

 

Cas nodded and smiled, his long eyelashes fluttering open. “Can we do it again?”

 

Dean didn’t respond, just leaned forward again. He let his mouth open a little more this time. Cas copied the movement, little breaths coming faster and Dean swallowed them up. Cas’ lips were soft and pliant under his own and he sucked briefly on the lower one before— after what felt like a blissful eternity— pulling away. They leaned their foreheads together, and when Dean opened his eyes he saw Cas pressing a hand against his chest. Come to think of it, Dean’s heart was racing too. Something about this guy never failed to get his body flustered and unsure what it was supposed to be doing. 

 

He was not prepared when Cas opened his eyes, wide and brilliant and _how do I keep forgetting he’s this close_?

 

“I liked that, Dean.” 

 

“Yeah? Good first kiss?”

 

“Definitely.” Something started making noise at the far end of the garage, but Dean elected to ignore it in favor of admiring the pink blush staining Cas’ cheeks. That is, until a little fist knocked against the driver’s side window. 

 

They both jumped so hard Cas hit his head on the roof of the car and they heard Sam laugh before he yelled, “Dean! Mom wants to know if you’re gonna bring your boyfriend inside or stay here macking on him all night.” Dean sighed and closed his eyes. 

 

“And now you’ve met Sam.” 

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sam!” Cas called. “Perhaps don’t scare your brother and I out of our wits next time?”

 

“I wasn’t scared,” Dean grumbled. “Just startled.”

 

“Sure,” Cas said, smirking.

 

Dean mock-glared at him. “Careful, or I just may lock you in here with me all night.”

 

“Would that be so bad?” 

 

Dean had a retort on the very tip of his tongue before Sam knocked on the window again. “You know I can hear you guys, right? Gross. I’ll be inside if you ever decide to get out of the car.” He turned and scampered away, shutting the garage door with a mighty click and leaving his brother to sort out the rest of their evening. 

 

Cas chewed on his bottom lip— was there anything he did that didn’t make him look absolutely perfect?— when Dean asked if he was ready to go meet Mary. Tentative, he nodded. 

 

“I promise she’ll love you,” Dean assured, unlocking the car and slipping out. He made his way to the other side, popping open Cas’ door for him. He swept a bow and held out an arm. “Good sir,” he trilled.

 

“Good sir.” Dean offered his arm and together, they tromped inside. 

 

In the living room, Mary sat curled against the edge of the couch, a book nestled in her fingers and a pair of tortoiseshell glasses resting on her nose. Her light blonde hair, all scraped to the back of her head, caught the light from the brown lamp on the table beside her. She looked peaceful. 

 

“Hey, Mom.”

 

“Hey, sweetie. Who’s this?”

 

“This, uh. This is Cas.”

 

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Winchester.”

 

“Oh, Mary, Cas, please. It’s nice to meet you too.” Silence started filling up the space like water. Dean studied his shoelaces, waiting to see if anybody would speak up. Nobody did. 

 

“Well, uh,” he coughed. “This has been fun. We’ll be upstairs.” He tugged a little on Cas’ elbow, gesturing towards the steps with his head. 

 

“Use protection!” Mary called to their backs. Cas stiffened beside him as Dean’s face began to flame. He loved his mother, really, he did, but Jesus Christ, seriously? He muttered apologies as he pulled on his date’s sweater-clad arm, trying to will the red off his own cheeks. 

 

Cas still looked on edge when Dean shut the door behind them. He gnawed on his lip, denim-colored, skittish eyes darting around the room. 

 

“Hey, listen, man. I’m sorry. It’s kind of a mom thing, I guess. I’m not— I mean, I don’t expect… like, anything. Like that. You know that, right?”

 

“DeanI’masexual,” he blurted, eyes clenching shut as he said it. Dean teased the words apart in his mind. Asexual— he was sure he’d heard of that before. In biology class, sure, they’d talked about plants. Cas wasn’t a plant, though, he was a person.

 

“Okay, um.” He nodded. “I’m not entirely sure what that means.”

 

“It’s— I don’t feel attraction, I’m not sure why,” he rushed, “I can tell that you look nice, but there’s really nothing beyond that. And I don’t do… you know. Sex.” Dean could work with that.

 

“Alright.” 

 

Cas looked surprised. “No comments, questions, anything?” His brow furrowed, he picked at a frayed bit of yarn on his sleeve. “You’re not going to call me a robot?”

 

“What? No, ‘course not. You’re not a robot, you’re Cas.” He shrugged. “So you don’t do, y’know, stuff. What’s the big deal?” Cas smiled. 

 

“Alright.”

 

“Alright?”

 

“Alright.”

 

After that, Cas shot off a text to his mother, saying he was spending the night at a friend’s. Dean lent him a pair of sweats and a hoodie and the two of them bundled underneath the covers with Dean’s laptop. He pulled up the next episode of House Hunters (which he absolutely did not enjoy, it was just interesting to see how they fixed the houses.) 

 

“Really?” Cas asked, eyebrow lifted. 

 

“We can watch something else. It’s fine.”

 

“No, no, I like it. I just didn’t think that Dean Winchester, macho man, would enjoy this sort of thing.”

 

“I don’t,” he scoffed. “It’s just… interesting. To see the progression or whatever.” He bit the inside of his cheek and Cas rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright. Just don’t tell Jo. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

 

“Deal.”


	2. Chapter 2

Three months later, they were back in Dean’s room. It was a damp Saturday afternoon, just after Thanksgiving; Cas leaned against the wall with his legs crossed and Dean’s head rested in his lap. Cas’ slender fingers carded through his hair while he flipped through his AP Lit book while Dean glared at the shiny pamphlet pinched in his fingertips. A girl holding several textbooks smiled against a background of green grass and brick buildings, a few young men in the middle of some sort of ball game behind her. ‘Ready to succeed?’ read the bold white text below the picture. He dropped it with a groan. 

 

“Hey, angel?” Cas hummed and looked away from his book. “Where are you applying?”

 

“University of Kansas, Northeastern, Vanderbilt.” His eyes moved to the ceiling as he considered. “Stanford, but I don’t think I’ll get in. There are a few others.” Dean smiled. 

 

“Sam wants to go to Stanford.”

 

“Who do you think suggested it?” They laughed for a moment. “Which ones are you looking at?”

 

“I don’t even know.” Cas nodded solemnly and set his book aside. His sweater sleeves got shoved up to his elbows, wrinkling, and he plucked the brochure from Dean’s hands. 

 

“Okay. Let’s figure this out, then. I love Keats but I need a break.” Cas was something of a romantic, he’d learned. He loved Shakespeare and Keats and God help you if you tried to argue with him on the topic of Jane Austen. It wasn’t uncommon for Dean to wake up to a text containing a few lines of verse or a poignant quote from Brontë or Tolstoy. He usually tried to guess the source before 1st period. Cas always told him at lunch if he hadn’t, but it made for a fun game. “Your GPA is good and you’ve got a few good extracurriculars. That puts you in the running for a lot of good schools, but I’m not sure whether you’ll make it into any Ivies.”

 

“That’s fine. Can’t really afford those anyway.”

 

“Financial aid is a wonderful thing. We’ll look into it for the rest.”

 

They got out a notebook and started making a list. Cas etched, in his looping, elegant scrawl, about 15 names or so. He added a few, crossed them out, and started sketching something in the corner while Dean shuffled a few pamphlets into the order of what looked most promising. In an hour, they had a list of ten and a highly intricate doodle of a sunflower.

 

“Thanks, Cas, seriously,” Dean said after tossing the notebook on his desk. He stretched up to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, sometimes.”

 

“Okay, Romeo.” 

 

He geared up for the words he knew were about to leave his mouth— he couldn’t have stopped them if he tried. “No, really. I love you." Immediately, Cas’ eyes softened. The blue went all starry and then cloudy and Dean really needed to quit trying to make sky metaphors about them because the words were always lacking.

 

“I love you too,” he murmured. His arms came around Dean’s shoulders and he ducked his head down to meet his lips. Things started to heat up when something buzzed and Cas pulled away. Dean got jostled to the side and he pouted a bit as Cas pulled his phone from his pocket. “It’s my mother,” he said, his dilated eyes scanning the screen. “She wants me home for dinner. Would you like to come with?”

 

“Are you sure? That’s kind of a big deal, isn’t it?”

 

“If you don’t want to—”

 

“No, no, it’s not that, baby.” (He didn’t miss his little smile at the endearment.) “I just don’t want you to feel obligated to invite me. That’s all.”

 

“Trust me when I tell you, Dean Winchester, that being with you is never an obligation.”

 

“Aw, Cas, you sap,” he crowed, trying to move up for another kiss. 

 

“Nope, wait.” His slender fingers came up to push Dean back down to his lap. “I’ve got to text her back, first.”

 

Dinner with Hester and Cas was… well, some sort of affair. Cas set the table quickly and quietly, pushing Dean into a chair and shushing him when he tried to assist. His mother bustled around the kitchen, a blur as she poured sauce and pulled the chicken out of the oven. She, too, refused to allow him to help. 

 

“You’re a guest. Castiel, if you would take the potatoes to the table?”

 

It turned out that family dinners in the Novak household weren’t so much about conversation and love as Cas’ mother trying to look and act the pinnacle of a woman who had it all figured out. That appeared to include diplomatic hospitality and eating meals with her son every evening. 

 

Hester herself was intimidating. Her face was severe and unchanging, not speaking to either of them unless it was necessary. She had not yet changed out of her immaculate work clothes, her white shirt almost offensively bright and contrasting sharply with her black blazer. 

 

After saying grace, she reminded Cas to go to bed early that night. 

 

“Why’s that?” Dean asked. Cas tensed and squeezed his hand under the table. His fingernails dug into Dean’s knuckles. Hester blinked at him, smooth brow furrowing. 

 

“We have church in the morning,” Cas whispered to him and Dean immediately felt like an idiot. 

 

“That’s right, I’m sorry. I don’t know where my head is tonight.” Hester hummed, sounding unbelieving, and speared a piece of chicken. A beam from the light fixture caught on the shiny golden cross hanging from her neck. Cas squeezed his hand again and spared him a reassuring glance. “Thank you so much for dinner, Ms. Novak. It’s delicious.” In truth, it wasn’t, the meat was dry and the pile of greens— he was pretty sure it used to be spinach— were damp and limp, but his mother had taught him a long time ago that complimenting the food was the perfect way to get out of an awkward situation at dinnertime. Cas’ mother allowed a tight smile and dabbed her lips with a napkin. 

 

“You’re welcome, Dean.” She stood from the table and cleared her plate, setting it by the sink and gesturing towards it with her son. “Make sure these get washed, Castiel. I have a lot of things to finish tonight, so please stay out of my office unless it’s an emergency.” There was no time to respond before she was gone. 

 

“I’m helping you with the dishes,” Dean said to Cas as soon as they heard the door snap shut. “No buts.” The dark haired boy rolled his eyes and stood from the table, taking their dishes with him. Dean got a hearty laugh out of him as he loaded the dishwasher, using a spoon like a microphone to sing Zeppelin. Cas snapped a towel at him, grinning, and told him to get to work. “Slavedriver!” 

 

Later, they were cuddled up in the bedroom, Dean’s face to Cas’ chest. When he spoke, the words vibrated around his chest cavity and buzzed against his ear. “Do you want to go to church with us tomorrow?”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes. You’re important to me, I want to share this with you.” Dean nodded eagerly and turned his head to kiss his jaw. 

 

“Yes, I’d like to go to church with you tomorrow.”

 

“I love you.”

 

“I love you too.” Dean nuzzled closer and sighed. He couldn’t remember being this content in a long time. 

 

The next morning, they rose with the sun and Cas lent him an outfit. It was a green button down with a pair of khakis, not dissimilar to Cas’ own clothes for the day. He wore blue, and Dean insisted on taking a picture of the two of them. Their hair was mussed and their eyes still crinkled with sleep, but he immediately set it as his phone background. He pressed his lips to Cas’ cheek and pulled them away with a noisy smack, leaving him giggling. 

 

“Castiel, Dean, are you ready to go?” Hester called from the main room. 

 

“Just a moment!” They stole one more kiss and Cas pulled out from under Dean’s arm, “Are you ready?” 

 

The car ride was quiet. They both sat in the backseat but made sure to keep the space between them empty in case Hester happened to glance back at them in the rearview mirror; Dean’s palms itched with the need to take Cas’ hand in his. 

 

The church was small, a single building with a steeple and a cross on the top of it, two pretty stained glass windows in the front and one in the back. It was warm inside, with walls painted dark orange and the dark wood furniture upholstered in a similar shade. Ms. Novak marched directly to the front and Cas followed right behind her. His shoulders were hunched and head bowed, but a little smile painted his lips. 

 

They sat as a trio in the first pew, the boys chatting quietly until the preacher appeared on the pulpit. 

 

“Hello, everybody,” he said. He had a comfortable sort of voice. It was friendly and easy to listen to, and Dean found himself saying hello with the rest of the crowd. 

 

Cas leaned in and whispered, “That’s Pastor Gibbons. Most of us just call him Sonny.” 

 

Everybody bowed their heads for the first prayer, then Cas slipped away to get onstage with the rest of the choir.

 

Dean hummed along where he could follow the song, but mostly let the music wash over him. He could pick Cas’ deep baritone out easily from the rest as there were only a handful of people singing and his voice was easily the lowest of them all. The guy sounded incredible. 

 

“That was lovely, thank you all,” the pastor said before starting into the sermon.

 

By the end, Dean had decided it was… nice. Not the hellfire and brimstone he’d come in expecting, given Cas’ mother and her posters. Maybe the whole religion thing wasn’t really for him, but he could appreciate the appeal.

 

Almost immediately after the service ended, Hester grabbed her son’s arm. “Let’s go. I have to get to the office. I’ll drop you two off at the apartment on the way.”

 

The boys got out of the car in the apartment complex parking lot; Cas had hardly gotten the door closed before she was driving away again. 

 

“Can I take you to breakfast?” Dean asked, gesturing to the Impala and his boyfriend’s face split into a grin. “So,” he started once he’d gotten behind the wheel. “Do you really believe in all of that Jesus stuff?”

 

“That’s… complicated.”

 

“Walk me through it, then?” Cas bit his lip and tilted his head to the side, considering. 

 

“Well. I believe in angels, and heaven and hell.” He paused. “I think that a lot of the bible is true and important, and that a lot of the morals and codes it contains are good to follow, but I think they’ve got some stuff wrong.” Dean took a minute to mull over his words. It made sense. 

 

“So… us. You and I. That’s still okay, right?”

 

“Absolutely,” he said, taking his hand over the center of the seat. “I love you.”

 

“I love you too, Cas.”


	3. Chapter 3

One morning in March, Dean woke to his alarm and found a text waiting for him. _The wonder of you is the stuff of legends, my dear / … I’ll stay by your side always and forever._ He read the words over a few times. They sounded nice, but unfamiliar. He copied it from the messages app and entered it into a search bar— nothing turned up matching it. He puzzled at it for a while, trying query after query until he realized he was going to be late for school if he didn’t get moving. 

 

7:02AM _Who’s that by?_

 

7:04AM **_Can’t you tell? ;)_**

 

7:04AM **_(I’ll tell you at lunch)_**

 

Mysterious. 

 

He barely made it to Econ before the late bell rang, shoving one foot past the threshold of the classroom and doing a near perfect right leg split in the process. Technically, he was inside. The class had a good laugh and Jody ushered him in so she could take attendance. Cas waved at him from his front row seat, smiling, and Dean winked back at him. Cas’ nose crinkled teasingly and he turned back to the board. 

 

After class, Dean caught up with him. “Hey, you wanna tell me what that’s from? My friend Google couldn’t find squat.”

 

“Not yet. Lunchtime.”

 

“But that’s so far away,” he complained. 

 

“Patience, grasshopper. I’ve got to get to class. See you later on?” More than anything, Dean wanted to give Cas a goodbye kiss, but they were keeping everything on the down-low at school on the off chance something got back to Hester. It sucked, but Dean understood. 

 

“Yeah, of course. Bye, ba— Cas.” The textbooks in his arms made it awkward, but he managed a bow. “Good sir.”

 

Cas grinned and copied him. “Good sir.”

 

At lunch, Cas was the only person at their table. “Looks like it’s just us, then,” said Dean, “You wanna tell me who that quote came from?”

 

“It was a Castiel Novak original. Two lines from a complete poem.” 

 

No way. 

 

Cas wrote a lot. Like, a _lot_. They’d known each other maybe five months and already Dean had watched him go through two three-subject notebooks. With as much as he read and wrote, there was no way he wasn’t at least sort of good, but he always refused to share anything. 

 

“You want to hear the rest of it?”

 

“Can I?” 

 

Cas pulled a rumpled sheet of notebook paper out of his backpack and began to read. The gravel in his voice smoothed out as he switched to performance mode, and the words came out of his mouth velvety and beautiful. 

 

“Green carnations set above your nose, / Like refreshing lily-padded pools, / The wonder of you is the stuff of legends, my dear; / You and I will break all of the rules, / My love; for this simple bit of prose, / They’ll remember us, don't you suppose? / You’ve made me into some lovesick fool, / My heart; I'll stay by your side always and forever, / For millions upon millions of years.” 

 

Dean’s jaw dropped in awe. He had known that his boyfriend had some talent, but he was unprepared for that. 

 

“You wrote that?” he eventually managed.

 

“For you.” 

 

Dean covered his mouth. “Dude. You…” He struggled to find the words. “You’re something else, baby. I’ll tell you what.” He laced their fingers together under the table and smiled at him. He didn’t have words, so he let his touch do the job for him. 

 

“Dean… do you want to go to prom with me?”

 

“Of course. Of course I do, Cas.”

 

Cas smiled softly. “Good.”

 

The night of, they ate dinner with Dean’s family and took their pictures in the backyard. Cas looked really sharp, his charcoal jacket soft to the touch with a silky blue vest beneath it. Mary must have taken at least 300 pictures of the two of them. 

 

“Hey,” Dean said, pulling Cas aside once Sam had sufficiently distracted their mother. “I got you something.” He tugged him by the arm over to the back porch steps, where he’d hidden the little box. It was made of clear plastic, and inside there was a single little sunflower with a silver pin attached to it bottom. He had brought it with him to get his tie so that the colors would match, since he knew it wouldn’t coordinate with Cas’ blue tie. As soon as he saw it, Cas started giggling. 

 

“I got you the same thing,” he laughed, wiping a tear out of the corner of his eye. Then he turned and yelled over his shoulder, “Sam! Can you bring me the package?”

 

True to form, the container deposited into his hands contained an identical flower and Dean couldn’t help but laugh. Mary, hearing all the commotion, bustled over, her camera in hand. Dean heard the shutter several times but paid it no mind, instead setting down the box to fold Cas in his arms. 

 

“We’re a hot mess,” he said when he pulled away, “I love it.” They took their turns attaching the pins to the lapels of each other’s jackets and took what felt like 100 more pictures.

 

Before they took off, his mother caught Dean’s arm. His hand was encased in Cas’ so they both stopped and turned. She pointed a stern finger. “I want him back home before 2, understand?”

 

“I understand, Mary.”

 

“Oh, not you, Cas. I was talking to Dean.” They were both allowed a short laugh before her arms were around the pair of them, squeezing tight enough to cut off both of their oxygen supplies. “Have fun,” she said once she’d let go. 

 

“We will. Thanks, Mom.” He kissed her cheek and threw his arm around his boyfriend. 

 

Cas fidgeted the whole ride there. He kept buttoning and unbuttoning the cuff of his shirt and fiddling with the air vents. Somehow, in messing with his tie, he’d managed to get it backwards. 

 

“What’s wrong, angel?” Dean asked, flicking the radio volume to zero. “Is everything okay?”

 

“I’m… I’m thinking about telling my mom. About us.”

 

Dean hadn’t said something to make it sound like he didn’t want to keep things so quiet, had he? Obviously he’d love to be able to take his boyfriend out on dates within their dinky little part of town and kiss him in the hallways at school, but he would never pressure him into coming out before he was ready. God knows he had wanted to wait a while before telling his dad that he batted for both teams. (For good reason, too.) “What brought this on?”

 

“I’m tired of keeping everything such a secret. Why should we have to sneak around as if we’re not the same as any other couple? I want to be able to hold your hand when we go get ice cream and dance with you at prom. I don’t want to care so much about her finding out I’m different.” He slumped into his seat. “Am I crazy?”

 

“No, Cas, of course not. I’d love those things too. But I wouldn’t want you to do anything that’ll put you in danger. Holding hands isn’t worth you getting hurt.” He collected said hand and pulled it to his lips. “You get me?”

 

“I get you, Dean.” He sighed. “I don’t want to be as secretive anymore, though. If she finds out from someone at school, so be it.”

 

“Okay. And you know you’ve got a place to stay with us if something happens, right? Mi casa es su casa.” 

 

“I know. Thank you, Dean, really. You say you don’t know where you’d be without me but the same rings just as true for you.” Dean flushed. 

 

“Aww, Cas,” he said as he slid the Impala into a parking space. He sat staring at him for a long moment, trying to find any words to respond adequately to that. When he didn’t find anything, he reached forward to try and fix Cas’ tie. His nimble fingers redid the knot, sliding it into place as he looked back up into his eyes. Without really thinking about it, Dean drew him in, his fist tangled in the silk. They kissed long and soft and sweet under the watch of the parking lot lights. “You ready to go inside?”

 

“Of course.”

 

They turned their tickets in to Jody and Donna, who were manning the card table by the doors of the gym. 

 

“You boys have fun, yeah?” 

 

“Thanks, Donna.” She raised a brow at him and he shrugged. “What? It’s not school hours.”

 

“School function, though,” Jody reminded. She rolled her eyes and waved a hand behind her. “Go have fun, or whatever it is teenagers do these days.”

 

The theme was ‘A Night in Paris’. The auditorium walls were draped in midnight blue fabric, with fairy lights spaced evenly around the perimeter of the room and hanging from the ceiling like streamers. The walkways were dotted with pink and red rose petals. Each white tablecloth had a centerpiece of flowers, pink candles, and miniature street lamps, with ribbons tied to the backs of all the chairs. As they walked in, a sophomore student council girl handed them each a small padlock. Dean was confused until Cas pointed to the little bridge beside the dance floor; dozens of the things hung from it. 

 

“Le Pont des Arts,” Cas explained. “Until a few years ago, couples would put padlocks on a bridge in Paris then toss the key into the Seine. It was supposed to symbolize their eternal love.”

 

“Well, I think we ought to go put our lock on, don’t you think?”

 

It was a little while before any sort of slow song came on. When it did, it was Sinatra— Cas was over the moon about it, pulling Dean to the floor. They shuffled around a little, both of them needing time to get used to the rhythm and Dean to learn how to follow Cas’ lead. _Who knows where the road will lead us, only a fool would say._

 

“ _But if you’ll let me love you, it’s for sure I’m gonna love you all the way,_ ” the speakers sang. They bumped their foreheads against one another as the song tapered to an end, grinning. The magic of the moment was broken when some sort of fast-paced, Top 40 pop song came on, but Dean refused to let it spoil their good mood. 

 

“Come on,” he said, dropping his a hand to Cas’ waist and raising the other in the air. “Keep dancing?”

 

“I don’t know what to do with my arms!”

 

“Just raise them, like this.”

 

“And my legs?” He was practically screaming over the music.

 

“Bounce!”

 

In Cas’ defense, he was obviously trying really hard. But he looked like a marionette with a drunk puppeteer. They stuck around, dancing (well, “dancing”) to a few more songs, before finally taking a seat with Ash and Jo. That’s where they spent most of the night, only getting up every so often to refill their punch cups or sway to a slow song. 

 

“Hey,” Cas said later. “Why are you so friendly with Mrs. Mills and Ms. Hanscum?”

 

“Oh, Jody and Donna? They’re old family friends. I was the ring-bearer in their wedding when I was six.” Cas choked on his punch.

 

“They’re married?” The incredulity in his voice was hilarious. His eyes looked like they were about to bug out of his head. “But… How—”

 

Jody and Donna Mills had been in Dean’s life as long as he could remember. They’d babysat him and his brother in both of their infancies up until Dean was old enough to watch over Sam by himself— they had been like extra mothers to him, growing up. He was certain they knew he liked boys before he himself did. 

 

“They don’t really broadcast it. It’s still Kansas, after all. Technically Donna’s last name is Mills but students had been calling her Hanscum for such a long time that she just left it be.” Cas’ awestruck expression stuck to his face like it had been glued on. Real life queer adults were hard to come by in places like Lawrence, so finding out he’d been turning worksheets in to them for four years must have left the guy pretty awestruck.

 

Towards the end of the party, Jo ducked away. When she came back, slipping into her seat like nothing had happened, she made a zipped lips gesture at Dean’s question and sat back to wait for… something. A few minutes later, Dean heard the opening bars to one of his favorites. Jo shot him a look and Dean started in realization before he turned to Cas. “May I have this dance?” 

 

Once they’d made their way to a secluded corner of the dance floor, Dean looped his arms around Cas’ shoulders while Cas held onto his waist. “Come on, angel, I don’t bite.” Cas shuffled closer until they were nearly chest to chest, toe to toe. Dean closed his eyes until his date started to talk. 

 

“I know I can’t really dance, but I’m glad we came tonight. I’m glad we’re here together.”

 

“I’m glad, too.” He took a short breath right as the chorus began. “ _You’re my angel, Come and save me tonight…_ ” He started soft, gaze on their feet, waiting to see if Cas would join in. 

 

“ _You’re my angel, Come make it all right._ ” He looked up to find those shockingly bright eyes full of love and staring right into his soul. As if in slow motion, Cas stretched his neck up the slightest bit to capture his lips. The kiss was over as soon as it had started. Without missing a beat, Cas— smiling— kept singing. “ _Without your love, I’m nothing but a beggar._ ”

 

“ _Without your love,_ ” Dean continued, their voices mixing together, “ _A dog without a bone. What can I do? I’m sleeping in this bed alone._ ” 

 

“ _You’re my angel, Come and save me tonight, You’re my angel, Come make it all right._ ”

 

Their quiet singing tapered off into hums somewhere around the bridge, and they stayed right where they were for a few minutes after the song ended. It felt like a fairytale. 

 

“Are you ready to go?” Dean whispered eventually. Cas nodded and they went to collect their suit jackets from the backs of their chairs. In the car, he said, “I really don’t want to go home yet.”

 

“Me neither.” He checked the time on his phone. “Can we go get pancakes?”

 

“Anything you want.”

 

They ended up at Rosie’s. Now, Rosie, the owner, was tall, and she was tough. Towering over both of them at something like 6’3” or 6’4”, she smiled and pointed them to their booth. She carried no pen or pad in her leather, fingerless gloves when she made her way over to the table a few minutes later. 

 

“Hey, boys. Hope you didn’t get all dressed up for me tonight.”

 

“‘Course not, Rosie,” Dean drawled. “We’re coming from prom.”

 

“Ah, I see. Well, that seems pretty special. Coffee on me.”

 

“Thank you, Rosie,” Cas said. She poured them two scalding mugs and Dean immediately reached for the chipped ceramic. 

 

“Just this once,” she warned and turned back to the kitchen. They could clearly make out the sound of her telling Kenny in the back that ‘the boys are here, you know their order.’

 

“So. Senior prom,” Dean started. “Was it everything you’d hoped it would be?” Cas leaned his head on his shoulder and sighed dreamily. 

 

“That and so much more. Thank you for tonight.” Dean barely resisted the urge to say something like ‘anything for you.’ Instead, he bit his tongue and kissed Cas’ temple. Cas continued, “I love you.”

 

Their food came a little while later, right around the time Cas’ energy level tanked completely. He managed about a pancake and a half before Dean flagged down a waitress to ask for two boxes. His weak protest was interrupted by a yawn and he gave in, letting Dean package up both their meals and pay the bill. 

 

“Have a good night, guys,” Dean called to the last few patrons and staff. Cas mumbled something similar but the sound drowned in Dean’s shoulder, where his head was laying. He fell asleep not two minutes into the drive back; at a red light, Dean snapped a picture. 

 

Neither the feel of the car rumbling to a stop in the driveway nor the sudden silence of the the engine being cut off were enough to wake him. Dean found himself unwanting to disturb the peaceful picture Cas made, his mouth open the tiniest bit and his breathing soft. He went to the other side of the car and scooped his date up in his arms. He managed to get the first door shut with his hip and the second open with some creative elbow work. Cas only stirred once they started going up the staircase. 

 

“Mm,” he moaned, eyelids cracking open. “Wha’s goin’ on?”

 

“Nothing at all. Go back to sleep, baby,” Dean shushed. Cas made a sleepy sound and nestled back into his shoulder. 

 

Dean laid him in bed and went to let his mother know they’d gotten home safe— a whopping three minutes before their curfew— and to put the pancakes away. When he came back to the room, Cas had woken a bit and was looking blearily around the room. 

 

“Wasn’t I in the car?”

 

“You were. You fell asleep so I carried you up here.” He shrugged and started unbuttoning his shirt. “You might want to change, since you’re awake.” 

 

Lethargically, Cas nodded and accepted the soft grey sweats he handed him, changed into them with drawn-out movements that looked like they took a herculean effort. The pieces of his suit all fell to the floor; at this point, Dean’s energy was flagging, too, so he left them there. He crawled into bed and wrapped his arms around Cas from behind. He had already nodded off again, so Dean pressed a goodnight kiss to the back of his head, rustled the blankets around them one more time, and let himself fall asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

9:48AM **_Doubt thou the stars are fire,/Doubt the sun doth move,/Doubt truth to be a_**

**_liar/but never doubt thy love._ **

 

9:50AM _We did Hamlet in English last year_

 

9:50AM _Morning baby_

 

9:51AM **_Good morning, Dean._**

 

9:52AM **_Can I call you? I really need to talk about something._**

 

In lieu of responding, Dean tapped the call button and waited for it to ring through. “Is everything okay?” he blurted as soon as the call connected.

 

“Yes, Dean, I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” Dean released a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “Sorry, I suppose that would’ve sounded worrying.”

 

“What’s up?”

 

“I’ve decided I want to come out. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, or when exactly, but soon.”

 

Cas had talked about this several times before, usually after they had had to drive to the bowling alley a half hour away or drop each other’s hands underneath the booth at the local fast food place. He was so tired of having to sneak around, they both were. “That’s awesome, Cas, I’m happy for you!”

 

Cas took a deep breath on the other end of the line. “That— it’s not going to… change anything, will it? For us?”

 

It was a thrill sometimes, sure. There’s a reason clandestine relationships were such a big trope in the romcoms his mother liked to watch on Friday nights, but the rush had already worn off within a couple of months. Dean wanted nothing more than to be able to go public with the love of his life. 

 

“Of course not, angel. You have no idea how excited I am for this.” 

 

Cas sighed shakily. “Okay. Good.”

 

“And hey, Cas? I love you either way. I don’t care if you come out with a fireworks show and a parade tomorrow night or never come out to anyone but me and our friends, alright? I want you to know that.” He could practically hear Cas’ smile, small but at the same time so, so big, the one with a little bit of his teeth peeking out from under his wide-stretched lips. 

 

“I love you, too. Meet up later?” 

 

“Sure. I can pick you up and we’ll go get ice cream?”

 

“Sounds perfect.”

 

A few hours later, Cas’ chocolate cone was dripping down the side of his hand, and Dean was transfixed as he licked it up. “Any thick envelopes in the mail yet?”

 

“A couple. I was accepted at Northeastern and University of Kansas.”

 

“Dude, that’s awesome!” Dean interrupted. 

 

Cas smiled and continued. “I’m still waiting to hear back from Stanford, but seeing as I was rejected at Vanderbilt I don’t think my chances are very good. What about you? Any emails, letters?”

 

“I’m in at KU.” He crossed one leg over the other and rested his elbow on his knee. “I haven’t heard back from anyone else, but it’s not that big of a deal.” State school was all he wanted anyway. Actually, he hadn’t even been planning on going to college, although now he had to admit that the idea excited him more than a little. 

 

“Congratulations, Dean. Really.” His lips were sticky and cold when he leaned over and kissed him, but Dean couldn’t find it in himself to complain. 

 

“Thanks, Cas.” He hummed and sat back in his metal chair, chasing the chocolate around the base of the sugar cone. Eventually, he sighed. 

 

“Dean…” He bit the inside of his cheek before groaning. “Nevermind. Nevermind. It’s stupid.”

 

“Cas, I highly doubt that. What’s on your mind, honeybee?”

 

“It’s just…” he looked down and spoke the next words to the sidewalk, “am I crazy for thinking I should tell my mom?” 

 

“Of course not, baby.” He smiled and covered Cas’ hand with his own. “You’ve met my mom, right? Do you know how long I waited to tell her?” Two months and 13 days, precisely. He knows that because the first time he noticed Aaron, it was when he turned around asking for the date in their shared journalism class. His internal panic began, and he finally broke and asked his mother what to do on Thanksgiving. It was another month before he told his dad. Worst evening of his life— nowadays, his family only ever called it The Night on the rare occasions they talked about it. He still hadn’t told Cas about it. “And my _dad_? Cas, you aren’t crazy for waiting or for thinking about it. Making that choice probably took ten years off my life.” He leaned forward and laced their fingers together on top of the table. “No matter what you decide, though, I’ve got your back. That’s my job, right? Gotta do something to win the boyfriend of the year award.” Cas finally looked up and cracked a smile.

 

“Oh, you’re definitely in the running, Romeo.” Dean laughed and they dropped the topic. He knew it was going to come up again and again until either they left for college or he came out, but he was content to forget about it for now. 

 

He was right, the topic came up on a nearly weekly basis. Dean could see just how close he was to telling her one morning after church, but she had turned away to talk to one of the children’s group organizers before he was able to say a word. At one point, he made Dean promise to make him do it by graduation, and that was where his idea began to form. 

 

◎❃◎

 

“Castiel Novak!” Cas rose from his seat and walked up to the stage. Dean, Ash, and Jo stood and cheered for him while Hester clapped politely from her seat. Dean begrudged her for that more than a little bit; he was her son, he was graduating for God’s sake— some enthusiasm would not be amiss. 

 

Several more people got their time across the stage, and then it was Dean’s turn. He whooped as he was handed the final diploma and threw a cheesy wink Cas’ way, earning himself an emphatic eye roll. He skipped down the steps to meet him quickly, a brief hug between them before he had to return to his seat. The valedictorian spoke, and a few club leaders, and then Principal Singer announced his name. He’d known about this in advance, of course, he’d won a character award which came with a 3,000 dollar scholarship— no small feat. His mother had cried when she found out, but he hadn’t told Cas yet. He had a speech prepared. 

 

He tromped up to the stage and swept a gaze over the crowd. He cleared his throat. “Hey, everybody. We've been here together for about four years now, so you all probably know me as Dean Winchester. What you might not know is that I’m bisexual.” Some mutters rippled through the crowd, a few shocked gasps erupting like sea spray. He sighed and waited for it to pass. “Shocker, I know. It’s not something that I’ve broadcasted because, well, this is Kansas.” That earned him a few titters and he smiled before continuing. “Making the decision to come out to my friends and family was a nerve-wracking one. It took a lot of self-examination and in that process, I learned a lot of things. I learned what it means to want to please people, and how important it is to get past that if you need to, in order to be happy. I realized I didn’t want to live a lie whenever I was around the people who matter most to me. 

 

“Some people reacted better than others— my mom, the wonderful Mary Winchester, who all of you know and love, she was endlessly supportive. I don’t know what I would’ve done without her. My dad, though, he didn’t react too well. I’ll spare you all the gory details, but the long and the short of it is that he isn’t around much anymore. That was hard, and I took a lot of guilt because I felt like I’d torn my family apart. But the experience has made me stronger.” Here, for the first time, he allowed the deep breath he took to waverbe shaky. He made eye contact with Cas, who had tears in his eyes. Dean mouthed, _do you trust me?_ The blue-eyed nodded slowly, and Dean smiled before turning back to the audience as a whole. “Now, I know somebody who’s been agonizing over the same decision I did. He’s been thinking about this for a real long time but was afraid of what might happen. I remember that feeling as clearly as I remember walking across this stage 15 minutes ago. And I remember, more than anything, wishing I had somebody who would help me say what I needed to say.” He took a deep breath and looked to Mr. Singer.

 

He nodded. “Go ahead, boy.”

 

Dean swallowed and looked to Cas once more. “Cas, could you come back up here for me?”

 

After the synchronous gasp from the audience, you could have heard a pin drop. Everybody in the auditorium held their breath. 

 

Cas’ robes made an awkward shuffling sound as he slid past the other people in his row, muttered “excuse me”s and “sorry”s echoing loudly in the silence. He mounted the steps quickly before coming to stand beside Dean, who wrapped an arm around him on instinct and shifted his entire body to face him. 

 

_Is this okay?_ Dean mouthed. He wanted to be absolutely certain before he said his next words. 

 

_Absolutely._

 

He turned back to face the crowd. “May I introduce my— gay, asexual— boyfriend, Castiel Novak.” Cas dropped his head to Dean’s shoulder and sighed. He glanced down at him, finding a happy, satisfied looking smile. “He’s one of the strongest people I know. I don’t know where I’d be today without him; he’s taught me a lot. So thank you all, and thank you, Cas.”

 

The applause was raucous, far beyond anything he was expecting. (It was still Kansas, after all.) At least three quarters of their classmates rose in a standing ovation. 

 

“Good sir,” Dean said, letting go of Cas’ shoulder to flourish his hands. Cas bowed and the applause grew even louder than before, if that was possible. 

 

“Good sir,” Cas mimicked, doing the same. They found spaces again at each other’s sides, arms winding around each other’s waists. Dean pressed a kiss to Cas’ forehead and looked into his eyes for one more moment before looking back to the audience. Dean noticed a pencil-skirt-clad pair of hips swishing out the door; by the severe bun at the base of her neck, he recognized her as Hester. 

 

“My mother is going to disown me. Or kill me. Or both,” Cas sighed. They moved to get off the stage. 

 

“I’ll protect you, angel.”

 

The reception was wild. The parents amassed in one half of the room and all the teenagers the other. Everybody Dean or Cas had so much as talked to in the past four years had something to say to them; and surprisingly enough, it was nearly all positive. So many pictures were taken that Dean was half convinced he’d go blind before dinnertime.

 

When they got a moment to themselves, leaned up against the wall behind the punch table, Cas turned to him. 

 

“What would you have done if I had said no?”

 

“I had a plan B speech.” Cas’ beautiful jaw slackened, lips falling open, and Dean leaned in to kiss the look off his face. “Some stuff about how you helped me when my dad left and how you were super supportive of our mutual friend who was struggling with the decision to come out.” Cas’ entire face scrunched up in confusion. 

 

“But I didn’t help you when your dad left.”

 

“They don’t know that,” he grinned, and Cas laughed, burying his head in Dean’s shoulder. 

 

“You’re something special, Dean.” And there he went again, tossing around sentiments which made his heart flutter as if they were nothing. The butterflies still didn’t know where the hell they were supposed to be. 

 

With Cas’ content, slow breaths hitting his collarbone and his pretty words echoing over and over in his head, he knew that Cas was something special, too. Something it would break him to lose. He knew he’d probably be spending the rest of his life with him. 


	5. PART TWO: Chapter 5

Cas ended up staying with the Winchesters that summer. Hester refused to speak to him; it was a fight just to convince her to let him into the apartment to gather his things. The boys lost themselves in a haze of sunny popsicle days and nights spent under the stars, relishing in their last days of true childhood. Cas had decided on KU over Northeastern— Dean still wasn’t entirely sure why, but he was glad they’d be at the same school. They had even gotten themselves assigned to the same dorm room. 

 

Move-in day was incredible. Their walls were plain white cinderblock and a pair of frat boy wannabes were housed across the hall, but as Dean and Mary covered the two extra long twin mattresses with one set of king-sized sheets and Cas set about organizing their desk drawers and closets, the dime-a-dozen dorm room began to feel like a real home. 

 

Around five o’clock, Mary took one last look around the room then wrapped each of them into tearful hugs. “Promise you’ll call, okay?”

 

Cas dropped a hand onto her shoulder. “Don’t worry about us. Besides, I don’t think he knows how to do laundry,” he smiled, pointing at Dean, “so I’m sure you’ll be getting enough calls to make you want to shut your phone off.”

 

It coaxed a smile out of her. “There’s no sense in telling me not to worry, you know,” Mary huffed, wiping away a teardrop, “you’re my boys.” She dropped her hand to the door handle. “Alright. Okay, It’s time for me to get out of your hair. Good luck!”

 

“Thanks, Mom.”

 

The first thing they did as the door finally closed, leaving them alone in their _shared dorm room_ for the first time was kiss. That was quickly followed by a hug, then another kiss. 

 

“You excited?” Dean asked, “This is kinda the rest of our lives.”

 

“Very.” Cas moved away, then, and started to dig through the top drawer of his school-issued armoire for what turned out to be a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt which had definitely belonged to Dean at some point. “I’m also, however, exhausted. I’m going to go change.”

 

With that, he slipped out in the direction of the bathroom. _Weird_ , Dean thought, but he let it go. Cas had been changing in the bathroom for as long as he’d been spending nights with Dean. It was probably just another thing which would change as they got used to this whole living together thing. 

 

Their first days of college passed, then first weeks, then first months. They found their own spot in the back of the library, a table with a floor outlet hidden beneath one of the legs and chairs whose padding hadn’t been completely worn away. It was far enough away from the café that they could barely hear any of the ruckus, but close enough that Dean could take a quick study break and bring back two coffees in pretty good time. It also just so happened that the school was only a couple of minutes away from Rosie’s; he wasn’t actually sure whether they spent more time in their dorm or the diner.

 

Before Dean knew what happened, they were packing the trunk and backseat and heading home for Christmas break. They went to church, watching as Hester stood and moved to a different pew when they sat down. Sonny welcomed them back at the beginning of the service and met up with them for lunch afterwards, wishing them the best at school and insisting on picking up the tab. 

 

The first Thursday after returning, they’d just gotten out of their math lecture when a flash of red hair came barreling towards them at the speed of light. She crashed right into their interlocked hands, pushing at them as if to break through the ribbon at the end of a race. She was catapulted right back, though, and hit the sidewalk with a thud. 

 

“Oh, God. I’m so sorry,” she said. Dean offered a hand and she hefted herself up. She stood a foot shorter than him and maybe three quarters as big around, but she took up more space in the air around the three of them than he and Cas combined. “I just found out the bookstore got the sequel to this book I just read and I had to get there before they sold out because it’s actually pretty popular around here and I didn’t see you guys standing there because I was still talking to Kevin behind me and…” He and Cas looked at each other as she took another huge breath— _are her lungs the size of hot air balloons?_ — and let it go again. She shook her head, looking a little bit like a dog ridding its fur of water and smiled. “Hi. I’m Charlie.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Charlie. I’m Dean, this is Cas.” Her grin got wider, if that was possible. 

 

“Are you two together?”

 

“Yes, we are,” Cas answered, lifting Dean’s arm to tuck himself underneath. Charlie immediately started digging around in her bag for what turned out to be a business card. She handed it to them and waited for their eyes to scan the little letters on it before explaining. 

 

“It’s the card for the SGD center. They’ve got TVs and study rooms and stuff and everybody there is LGBTQ, myself included. See you guys around?”

 

“Definitely. You’d better get to the bookstore, right?” With a final nod, she was off like a shot again. Dean shared a look with Cas, who shrugged his shoulders. 

 

“She seems nice.”

 

◎❃◎

 

Starting their routine after getting back from Christmas was difficult. Cas had a tendency to get distracted while making a snack and wander off, leaving the food open to go stale; Dean could not put his laundry in the hamper to save his own life. They were passive aggressive for a while, sticky notes on the container of snacks and terse texts with periods at the end of them, fewer study dates at the library and a couple of skipped Saturday morning breakfasts. It soon progressed to actual arguing. They were giving each other the silent treatment for days on end when Dean broke. 

 

It was a Sunday morning, no plans for either of them. He woke up at around 9, but his boyfriend was still dozing. 

 

Cas looked so peaceful while he slept. The furrow in his brow which had become almost permanent in the past few weeks finally smoothed out— with a pang, Dean realized that he was the one who had been putting it there in the first place. Over what? Some stale crackers and dirty laundry? He sighed and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He scribbled a note and stuck it to the door— _Be back in a bit. I love you—_ and tugged his shoes onto his feet. 

 

Rosie had his pancakes ready for him within five minutes of walking in the door. “You fix your issues with that boyfriend of yours, understand? I want to see you in here for breakfast bright and early next Saturday.”

 

“You got it. Thanks, Rosie.” She smiled and slid the paper bag across the counter to him, giving a two finger salute as he headed for the exit. He did the same as he pushed the door open with his back and spun out of it. 

 

Cas was half awake when he got back, his baby blues squinted against the bit of sun squeezing through the cracks in the blinds. 

 

“Dean?”

 

“Mornin’.” He toed out of his shoes and lifted his loot in the air. “I come bearing breakfast.”

 

Cas’ face softened and he lifted the covers for Dean to slide beneath. They unpackaged their meal quietly and he waited until Cas had a mouthful of food to talk. 

 

“Listen, Cas, I’m sorry. I’ve been being… well, I’ve been a jerk. A big jerk. They’re just… They’re just crackers or whatever, and I’ve been making a big deal out of it and it’s stupid. I’m— well, I’m an idiot.” He took a breath and looked up. “We okay?”

 

“We’re okay, Dean. I’m sorry, too.”

 

“It’s fine. We can both do better, yeah?”

 

“Agreed.” He nestled into Dean’s side, styrofoam carton resting on his chest, his leg getting stuck in the crack between their two beds. “I love you.” They fell into silence for a little bit, content to just exist side-by-side. 

 

“Rosie’ll be happy,” Dean observed after a while. “She said we’d better get ourselves sorted out and be in for breakfast by next Saturday.” Cas chuckled as he continued, “She puts up with so much from the two of us. We owe that woman a gift basket, honestly.”

 

She was, in fact, happy— as were Charlie and their more recent friend Benny, who they’d met in a study group for the final in their first semester math class. 

 

“Glad you two finally got yourselves together,” he drawled as they cuddled up beside each other on the couch in the student lounge in his dorm, “Now get your PDA off the sofa.” Charlie punched his arm and told him to leave her OTP— whatever that was— alone. Dean just planted a sloppy kiss on Cas’ cheek and laughed as his friend threw his hands up, groaning. 

 

“You and my little brother should start an anti-fan club, man.” 

 

Cas giggled, nodding. “He refuses to watch movies with us anymore.” To be fair, they really were annoying once they got going. Sam complained that he’d never be able to watch Nightmare on Elm Street again without hearing smacking noises in the background. (“You two were scarier than Krueger!”)

 

“I can see why,” Benny snorted. 

 

Charlie rolled her eyes at him and opened the Monopoly box on the table. “C’mon, let’s play!”

 

Sunday afternoon board game dates with their friends were a pretty consistent part of their week— a tradition honored nearly without fail for the rest of freshman year.

 

◎❃◎

 

Dean snorted and dropped his phone before rolling over in the darkness so he was facing Cas’ back. He whispered, “Hey, do you remember that time Sam walked in on us making out in my room and he almost cried?”

 

Cas groaned in response. “I’m trying to sleep, Dean.”

 

“Okay, yeah, but do you remember?” 

 

Cas shuffled closer and yawned. “Yes, I remember.”

 

“Well, Sam just texted me. Apparently he has a girlfriend now and Mom just did the same thing. Except they weren’t just making out.”

 

That surprised a laugh from his boyfriend, tired and grumpy as he was. “I wonder who that was the most traumatizing for.”

 

“Probably the girlfriend, to be honest. I’ll tell you, that was definitely one of the perks of this whole asexuality thing back when we still lived at home.”

 

“I’ll say,” Cas said. His back was still to Dean, but his smile was pretty evident in the sound of his voice. “Does it ever bother you?”

 

“What? That you’re not into sex?”

 

“Mhmm.”

 

Dean wound an arm around Cas’ waist. He’d thought about it, sure. He hadn’t exactly been virginal going into this whole thing with Cas. But in the beginning, he hadn’t wanted to be pushy about sex for fear of driving Cas away. A year and a half in and he’d nearly brought up the topic a few times, but what was the point? After that initial adjustment, Dean had found that he really didn’t mind so much. Eventually, he settled on, “No.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Why would I let it bug me? I love you, you love me, I can kiss you whenever I want and I’ve already got the whole domestic deal going at 19. What’s not to be content about?”

 

“Perdition catch my soul, but I do love thee, and when I love thee not, chaos is come again,” Cas mumbled into his pillow. “By the way, you can’t ever call me a sap again.”

 

“Whatever you say, babe,” he said, burying his nose in his boyfriend’s messy black tendrils and breathing in the rainy smell of Cas’ shampoo. “Hey, is that why you always change in the bathroom?” he asked. “Because you don’t have to worry about me peeping on you if that’s it.”

 

No response though, because Cas was already asleep. Ah, well. Dean figured that was probably the reason, and he could always bring it back up in the morning.


	6. Chapter 6

The kitchen was hot, and crowded, and loud, and normally this was not the kind of environment that either he or Cas would find themselves in, but it was for a good cause. Dean smiled as Cas refilled the bucket embedded in the counter with stew just as a haggard-looking woman and two scraggly children appeared in front of him. Dean ladled larger servings than he was technically supposed to into each of their bowls— he had always had a soft spot for little kids. 

 

They’d been at this for a little over four hours, now, and before today he hadn’t realized that people’s wrists could get so bony and spindly, shaking as they clutched their trays in twiggy fingers. He was grateful for the breakfast he’d had this morning. 

 

Cas had seen the soup kitchen flyer hanging on the bulletin board by his Philosophy of Language lecture on Tuesday, _Volunteers needed._ Now here they were, Saturday, and his arms were getting tired but Dean couldn't find it in himself to complain. It felt good to help the people sliding through the line, and it was made even better seeing Cas. Helping people was his lifeblood; this was the happiest he’d seen him in a while. 

 

“Lunch rush is about finished, everyone,” the director of the program, a skinny Asian guy named Kevin who looked like he couldn’t be more than 19, called. Probably one of those valedictorian types. “If you’d like to stay for dinner, that’d be great, but we understand if you have to go. Thank you all for your help today.”

 

He looked over at Cas. They both had exams to study for this week and he knew for a fact Cas had a paper due on Wednesday, but those puppy eyes were strong. 

 

“I think I need to head home, honeybee,” he said after making his way over to the stoves. “Need to get some studying done. I can come pick you up later if you want to stay a little longer?” Cas’ head cocked to the side at the mention of studying and he shook his head and sighed. 

 

“That’s okay. I probably need to catch up on some work anyway. We’ll come back another time.” 

 

When they got home, Cas groaned at the stack of books on his desk and flopped into the wheeled chair beside it. 

 

“Why. Why did I decide to come to college,” he intoned, voice comically flat. “How have I already survived a year of this?”

 

“Because,” Dean answered, tossing his backpack onto the bed and clambering up behind it, “You’re incredibly smart and you want to help people and you knew that this would be the best way to do that.”

 

“He is as full of valor as of kindness. Princely in both.”

 

“Shakespeare?”

 

“You’ve got it.”

 

“You’re such a sap. I love you.” Dean opened his calendar and groaned. “Tell you what, angel, you work on that paper you’ve been putting off and complaining about, I’ll make some flashcards, then we can go grab dinner someplace.”

 

“Deal.”

 

After a while, Cas leaned back in his seat, the sound of his chair creaking in protest accompanied by popping joints and a groan. 

 

“I feel pretty justified in taking a break. You?”

 

“Same, man. One more green diagram and I’m gonna throw something.” 

 

They found themselves facing one another at a picnic table beside the duck pond. Cas slowly mangled his fish taco with a plastic fork, sliding the onions and cilantro to the side of the cardboard carton. Dean scooped them into his own, replacing them with black beans and a bite of the guacamole which had come on his own. 

 

“Hey, so uh…” he started around a mouthful of tortilla. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.”

 

“You aren’t breaking up with me, are you?” Cas cut in. A breeze swept over the area, mussing his hair, and Dean absentmindedly reached a hand out to fix it, shaking his head. 

 

“What? No, of course not. Why would you think that?” Those shockingly bright blue eyes wouldn’t meet his. “Cas?”

 

“It’s nothing, everything’s fine.” He shook his head, as if to clear it, and looked up. Fragilely, he smiled. “What did you want to talk about?” Eyebrows knit, Dean squinted. What was going on in that head of his? “Dean?”

 

“Cas, I’m in this for the long haul. You know that, right?” 

 

He didn’t say anything, just picked a little more at his taco before shoving it aside. Dean found his burrito looking less and less appetizing. Without a word, they tossed their trash and started the familiar path back to their dorm. The hallway was oddly quiet for the time of evening, he noted, as Cas unlocked the door. It only added to his unease. 

 

Dean flipped the lock and shrugged out of his flannel. It dropped to the floor and before Cas even turned around, he was bending to grab it, giving it a shake or two and hanging it from the post at the end of his side of the bed. His hands and feet went through the motions of getting ready for bed on autopilot as his mind fought itself. 

 

He knew that Cas was basically a permanent fixture in his life. It would take the interpersonal equivalent of Hurricane Katrina to separate him from his… well, from the guy he was pretty sure was his soulmate. Sure, it had only been two and a half years, but it— _them_ — it felt right in a way he couldn’t explain. 

 

But what if Cas didn’t know that? Dean knew he was kind of gruff, at times. For all his flirtiness and pluck, he really was an absolute dumpster fire at expressing legitimate feeling. Pet names and pancakes weren’t the glue that held a relationship together. (Or at least, he was pretty sure of that. Cas was the first person he’d been with longer than a few months— but then, he’d called Cassie and Lisa and whoever Babe all the time, and they hadn’t lasted.)

 

Maybe there was a reason Cas had breakups on his mind? He couldn’t… He couldn’t be wanting to break up, right? They were fine. They were doing fine. They had gone out on a date tonight. They had done volunteer work together! Hell, they were roommates. The school year was only a month longer, though…

 

He didn’t know what he’d do if Cas broke up with him right now. They would have to share the same 15 by 11 foot space for another month and a half. His mom and his brother loved the guy and expected to see him all summer. What would Dean say to them? Where would Cas stay if not with the Winchesters? Obviously, Dean’s offer to stay with his family would stay on the table— awkward as hell was better than the love of his life sleeping on the streets— but God, would that suck. Cas was the love of his life. 

 

Cas was the love of his life. Soulmate, if you wanted to be gushy about it. Whatever. Soulmates don’t just break up. Cas didn’t want to break up with him, surely. There had to be some other explanation. 

 

“Dean? Are you okay?”

 

“Hm? Sorry, I zoned out. I’m fine.” He flicked off the lamp and inched closer to the middle of the bed. He waited to see if Cas would say anything. When the silence weighed heavy on top of his chest, revealed by Cas’ breathing to be mutual rather than lonely, he decided to break it. “Earlier.”

 

Cas sighed. “What about it?”

 

“You don’t… want. To break up with me. Right? We’re good?”

 

“God, Dean. Of course we’re good.” He moved to lay his head on his chest and Dean absentmindedly started combing his fingers through his inky hair. Quietly, he added, “For where thou art, there is the world itself, and where thou art not, desolation.”

 

“I like that one.”

 

“Me, too.”

 

“And hey, listen. I really do mean it when I say I’m in this for the long haul. I really, really love you, Cas.”

 

Without saying anything in response, Cas turned his face and pressed a kiss against Dean’s heart. That would’ve been the end of it, probably, if he didn’t feel his lips forming words against the skin. 

 

“What’s that?” he said. Cas shook his head. “Babe, talk to me. Is there something else?”

 

“I said that everybody says that before they leave,” he whispered. Dean sat up to look at him. A small frown sat on his mouth, tugging his whole face down with it. “Nevermind. It’s really not important. Let’s just go to sleep, Dean.”

 

“Cas. It is important.” He reached over him to turn on the light. Cas squinted at him until his eyes adjusted. “Is this about your mom?”

 

“Not just my mom,” he said, and sighed again, “I really haven’t told you the whole sob story, have I?”

 

“I’m totally in the dark.”

 

“Alright. I suppose you’ve as much right to this story as anyone. You know about my mother, obviously.” He waited for Dean to nod, which he did. “I haven’t told you about my Father, though. Or Hannah.”

 

Cas took a deep breath. “My father’s name was Inias. He and my mother grew up together and married young because it was the thing they were expected to do— to this day I don’t know if they ever really loved one another. Anyway, they had me a little less than a year later. My childhood was fairly average. I made good grades in school, joined student government and the track team, went to church on Sundays and choir practice on Wednesdays. 

 

“Both of my parents were focused on their careers so I was fairly independent early on. When I was in middle school they started fighting more and more. He left in the middle of the night when I was in seventh grade and my mother got the divorce papers in the mail a month later. We didn’t see him except in court after that. Mother got sole custody of me because of some technicality, I don’t remember the details anymore. He and I still aren’t in contact.

 

“After the divorce, Mother couldn’t stand being in our old community. Everybody went to the same church and believed the same things, and nobody liked the idea of divorce. Even if she hadn’t sought it out, she was shunned. I was, less so, but I was still the son of a single woman and children are quick to close their ranks. The summer before eighth grade she packed up all of our belongings and moved us to Lawrence while I was away at church camp. I met Hannah there, who happened to go to the middle school I was about to attend. We were fast, close friends and everything was fine for a while. 

 

“Junior year that stopped. Her older sister, Anna, had graduated when we were sophomores, and Hannah abandoned me for all of her friends. Most of them were seniors, so she rose in the ranks and became pretty popular.”

 

“Wait, wait. Hannah Milton?” Dean interrupted.

 

“The very same. I really didn’t have any other friends that year and so I quit going to the cafeteria. I spent lunch hour alone in the library pretty much every day until I came to track you down for that project.” For the first time, the corner of his mouth tilted up. “Things changed after that.”

 

Dean reached for his hand and held it between both of his own. “And I am so happy they did. Cas, look, there’s nothing I can do to change your past. But let me make you a promise— as long as you want me in your future, I’ll be there.” Cas leaned to kiss him before turning off the light. 

 

“Good.” 

 

Dean didn’t let go of his hand all night.

 

◎❃◎

 

The following Tuesday, they sat side-by-side on a sofa at the SGD. A young guy— he looked like he couldn’t be more than 16, but Dean had been informed that he was, in fact, just a very scrawny graduate— with a weird name was visiting. He was on some sort of road trip, crashing in dorms and on apartment couches with friends across the country. Apparently this had already happened once before— all the upperclassmen had greeted him with calls of ‘Alfie!’ and pulled him into the lounge, laughing and punching his pencil-sized arms, trying to catch up.

 

He wasn’t there long before a philosophical discussion got started, something about the intrinsic value of people and whether humans were automatically deserving of joy just for existing. 

 

Dean looked over at Cas, trying to gauge his thoughts on the topic. His boyfriend’s attention was turned to his wrist, where a blue pen doodle of a sunflower was halfway complete. It was simple, a colored-in center with two wheels of petals forming around it and a dainty stem trailing off along the lighter blue of his vein. Cas’ lips were pursed as he angled the pen, slow lines bringing the picture to life. With the amount of concentration Cas was putting into this, Dean was certain he wasn’t paying attention to the group either. 

 

“Dean, what about you?”

 

“Hmm? I’m sorry.” Busted. His cheeks turned pink. “What was the question?”

 

“What brings you joy?” Alfie (or whatever his name was) asked him. 

 

Dean’s mouth answered before his brain had the question completely processed. “Cas.” Shockingly bright eyes shot up and bore into the side of his head as he realized he should explain. “Everything about my life has been so much brighter since I met this guy. I probably wouldn’t even be in college right now if it weren’t for him. He makes me so happy. There really aren’t words.”

 

Charlie ‘aww’ed, a few people whooped and clapped. 

 

“Why don’t you kiss him already, then?” Chuck crowed. Dean rolled his eyes and did just that, before resting his head on Cas’ shoulder and spacing out for a while, tracing the sunflower over and over with his fingertips. They hung out for a little while longer before leaving; as per their weekly ritual, the couple went to the little green ice cream stand at the edge of campus to get sundaes before going back home for the night. 

 

“I’ve been thinking about getting a tattoo,” Cas blurted, plunking onto a picnic bench. Unbidden, Dean’s eyebrow hopped up his forehead. Cas’ brief interest in beekeeping had ended the second he got stung for the first time, and now he wanted to get inked. With a needle. 

 

“Okaaay…” he started. “What of?”

 

“A sunflower. I’ve always liked them, and it turns out they’re a symbol of faith. They always turn to face the sun. You know, seek the light? I want to get that scripted next to it, too. ‘Always seek the light.’” He traced a narrow finger near the doodle he’d done earlier. Dean realized that maybe it was concept art, rather than just a mindless sketch. Come to think of it, it really wasn’t uncommon for Cas to have ink smudges all over his wrists, hands, and ankles. He smiled. 

 

“I like it, baby. Very you.” As he grinned, Dean couldn’t help but add, “Maybe you should get a bee right next to it.” 

 

Cas swatted his shoulder with a handful of napkins and laughed. “They’re important, even if they are little striped demons. I was thinking of getting it up my arm.” Dean nodded and they were quiet for a few minutes. “Oh. What did you want to talk about the other day? Before… you know.”

 

“I found a flyer for a volunteer summer in Nigeria,” Dean said, his tongue slightly numb from the ice cream. “I figure we can save up for the rest of this year and next, then go before senior year.”

 

His eyebrows shot up his face. “Dean, that sounds incredible!” he exclaimed, leaning in. 

 

They sat there until long after the ice cream had melted, hashing out the details and making plans for finding the money for it. The glow in Cas’ eyes stayed there for weeks.


	7. Chapter 7

Before he knew what happened, finals time creeped up on them and Dean found that he had very little energy or patience for anything. Which was probably why he and Cas had the biggest fight they’d ever had. 

 

Dean had had an awful day. His English professor moved up the due date for the final paper (which he hadn’t even started) by nearly a week, he bombed the math exam and knew it, and a spindly freshman had knocked into him in the dining hall, dumping an entire tray of food all over him. It was all just _bad_. 

 

None of that was Cas’ fault, though, and he really shouldn’t have taken it out on him. 

 

He’d gotten back to their room, stressed and tired and needing to cram, and his boyfriend was at his own desk, already typing up the final paragraph of his own English paper.

 

He and Cas made small talk as he dug through piles of paper to find what he needed. About their exams, their summer plans, the end of year party Cas didn’t really want to attend. Finally, he’d found everything he needed and settled down to start. 

 

About an hour in, Cas ducked out to figure out dinner. Dean lifted a hand to acknowledge his leaving and returned, groaning, to the texts in front of him. He was about ready to say ‘screw it’ and abandon the whole thing, take his chances and get maybe a C on the test. He sat, capping and uncapping his highlighter, composing a list in his head of all the reasons why it was a good idea when the door reopened and Cas carried in two bowls of ramen. 

 

“You need to eat,” he said, setting one on the one bare corner of the desk. 

 

Dean caught him for a quick kiss and said, “You see? This is why you’re my favorite person.” Cas smirked and he added, “You take such good care of me. I know I’m in good hands so long as you love me.” 

 

“And you call me the sap,” he snorted, then retired to the bed with his own dish of noodles. He looked at his phone. “Huh.”

 

“What’s up?” Dean had taken the bowl in his lap and begun lazily turning left and right in his chair. 

 

“It’s the two year anniversary of my mother disowning me.” 

 

This time, Dean didn’t make the mistake of apologizing. He had last year, and Cas had sighed then stopped talking for the rest of the day. Dean understood, really; Ash and Jo’s sincere but useless apologies had inexplicably irritated him after The Night. Instead, he waited to see if there was anything else Cas wanted to say on the topic. He seemed lost in thought, staring blankly at the wall gnawing on his lip. After a few minutes, Dean figured it was safe to go back to his notes and let Cas sort out how he felt about the whole thing. If he knew anything about him, it was that when Cas wanted to, he’d talk about it.

 

What Dean expected was a reflection on his boyfriend’s relationship with his own mother and with Dean’s, and how he was able to live more authentically now that he’d made the decision to be out. Those were the few things Cas was still trying to figure out this time last year, and he’d talked a bit about them all enough for Dean to figure he had solid answers by now. What Cas said, though, caught him off guard completely. 

 

“You know, you still haven’t told me about what happened when you came out to your father.”

 

Nope. No. Dean had too much going on to expend the energy to delve into that memory and recover from the trip. Memory lane had several eighteen-wheelers going the wrong way and generally Dean got plowed down whenever he decided to take a walk. He hunched over his notes. 

 

“Cas, I really need to study,” he said, hoping it would end the conversation. 

 

“Oh, come on. It’s been three years, Dean, I think I deserve some backstory by now.”

 

“Maybe there’s a reason I haven’t told you,” he snapped, and instantly regretted it. Now there was no way he’d get out of this. Why hadn’t he just brushed it off, said he’d tell him later?

 

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

 

“No! I’m not getting into this right now, Cas, I have things to do.”

 

“And I suppose that’s more important than telling me about this.” His voice steadily rose in volume, nostrils flaring the way they did when something really fired him up. Dean matched him, metaphoric fuse burning almost as fast as the incoming explosion itself. Damn him. Damn him and his constant ability to find just the right button to push.

 

“Cas, it’s not like that! You know it’s not!”

 

“Is it really, Dean? Because it sure feels like you’ve been keeping the whole story from me for a really long time.”

 

“Well, maybe it’s a whole can of worms that I don’t want to get into and you shouldn’t go trying to open up old wounds. Maybe it’s something I have to try my hardest every day not to think about. Maybe I’m not going to be able to sleep okay for a week just because we’re having this conversation!” He stood, sending his chair rolling backwards a few feet. “Maybe I don’t want to talk to you about it!”

 

“Why, am I not good enough to know?” He set the bowl down on the mattress beside him, hard enough to splatter broth over the sheets. His feet slid to the floor and he stood beside the bed, waiting for whatever Dean had to say next. 

 

“That’s not what I said, Cas, that’s not what I said at all! Did you even listen to me?” He took a step closer. “ _I don’t want to talk about this._ Not coming out. Not my dad. None of it.”

 

“Dean, you act as if I’m going to judge you for this! You know my story. You know how bad it was! How much worse could it get?” Dean clenched his teeth. 

 

“You listen to me, Castiel, because I’m only going to say this one more time.” He closed the remaining distance between them, moving until he was standing close enough to feel the heat of his breath bouncing back at him, even in the cold of their little room, and snarled, “Stop prying into things you don’t understand. I’m not going to talk about it. Ever. Do I make myself clear?”

 

Instead of a yes or a no, Cas said, with his voice dangerously collected and very, very quiet, “Dean, I have told you about my darkest moments and my biggest fears. There are things I’ve told you that I never dreamed I’d have the courage to tell anybody. I’ve given you pieces of myself, because I love you. For you to keep this secret from me makes me question whether that’s really reciprocated.” He finished near a whisper. 

 

There were no words to simultaneously counter what had just been said and explain himself. And so, stupidly, Dean said nothing.

 

Cas’ eyes, the shockingly bright blue which ever warped and lightened and darkened, did something Dean had never seen before. They went hard. They clenched shut, opened again. They were moist. 

 

“I suppose I have my answer,” Cas whispered. The words didn’t feel like a slap to the face or the knife to the heart; rather, the start of the timer on a bomb. Dean didn’t know what would happen when it went off. 

 

Cas took two calculated steps around him, pulled his tan coat off its hook by the door and his wallet off the desk, and left. The door closed behind him like the final closing of a beloved book’s cover. Of course he didn’t slam the door. 

 

It took Dean two whole minutes to pick up his feet and move after that. It took three more to realize he was crying. His hands shook. 

 

The skin on his face felt too tight when he dialed Charlie. “We need to go out right now,” he told her, “and you’re probably going to have to keep me from doing something stupid.”

 

“Do you want me to ask?”

 

“No.”

 

“Is Cas coming with us?”

 

“No.”

 

“Yikes. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

 

He tossed his phone on the bed and scrubbed the saltwater off his face. He figured he should meet Charlie outside, so he grabbed his jacket and wallet and left. 

 

Everything was kind of a blur after that. From the screaming hangover the next morning, he gathered that he drank a lot. He also gathered that he’d ended up on the couch in Charlie’s studio rather than in his own bed. She was out on a run when he woke up, according to the note on the end table, but there was coffee on the counter and aspirin in the bathroom. He sent her a thank you text and packed up for the walk home. 

 

There was a noisy group of freshmen in the elevator, which did nothing for his headache. When he  grabbed for the door handle, he realized that it was unlocked. Had he really been so worked up last night he’d forgotten to lock it?  He cursed and went to figure out if anything was missing— instead, he found Cas curled up on the floor. A blanket was tossed over him. On the desk, there was a note. 

 

_Castiel’s boyfriend—_

 

_My name is Meg. I was at Martin’s Bar last night when Castiel here came in and got himself good and wasted. Kept going on and on about how his boyfriend wanted nothing to do with him and he was so sorry he couldn’t be enough. I came back with him when he said he needed to forget; as soon as we stripped, he started freaking out. Scary scars, man. I dropped a blanket over him and left. Don’t worry, we didn’t do anything. Hope you sort yourselves out. —M_

 

Dean’s first reaction was anger. Of course it was. Three years together, one fight and Cas was out the door trying to forget about him. He didn’t know that Dean was going out. For all he knew, he was bringing back some girl while his boyfriend was still in their _shared dorm_. He must’ve been really drunk. Some girl, honestly— how drunk had Cas been to forget he was gay? Dean almost crumpled up the note when another line caught his eye.

 

_Scary scars, man_. Dean had no idea Cas had scars. He tried to think of where they might be when it hit him that swim trunks were the most revealing thing he’d ever seen him in. He’d always been careful with boundaries; when Cas told him he didn’t do sex, Dean said ‘okay’ and left the issue alone. Perhaps there was something more behind that? Obviously he trusted Cas wouldn’t make it up just to… whatever. Keep a secret or something. But maybe that wasn’t the entire story.

 

He folded the note and put it in his back pocket when Cas started stirring. He didn’t quite want to put the whole argument behind him, but last night’s fury at Cas’ prodding had faded to severe irritation and he’d forgiven him enough to be tender with him. 

 

“Cas. Hey, wake up, angel,” he murmured, crouching next to him. Cas squinted his eyes open and immediately raised a groggy hand to cover them, groaning. 

 

“Dean? What— oh.” He took a moment to take stock of his situation before shooting up to a sitting position, his eyes wide and mouth dropped open in shock. When he regained use of his tongue, he said, “Oh my God. Dean, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

 

“Cas—”

 

“Please— please don’t— I’m sorry, I didn’t, I shouldn’t have—”

 

“Cas. Cas, baby, slow your roll. Listen. I’m upset, but I’m not angry. The girl left a note, nothing happened. We’re… we’ll definitely need to talk, but it’s okay.” 

 

Cas climbed down from his panic and let Dean take his hands. He took a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth. “Okay.” It seemed to process that he was stark naked and he blushed. “Um. Can you, uh.”

 

“Right.” Dean stood, turned his back. Cas, presumably, clutched the blanket around his hips and dug out some sweatpants from the dresser. He tossed a hoodie on for good measure and sat on the edge of the bed, one leg folded beneath him. Dean mirrored him and bit the inside of his cheek, trying to formulate the best way to ask his next question. 

 

“Cas. Uh, can I ask you something?” He looked up from his lap, waiting for a nod from Cas before continuing. He let his eyes fall again. “The, uh, the note. That the girl left. Um. She said you had some scary scars? And, uh, I haven’t seen any on you since we’ve met.” He _so_ didn’t have the grounds to ask this next question, not after last night. “So is there— is there… anything I should know?” He chanced a look up and saw panic and tears welling in Cas’ eyes. 

 

Minutely, he nodded, shifted so that his arms were crossed over his stomach, and licked his lips. He cleared his throat, but his voice was fragile when he opened his mouth. “I told you about losing Hannah. What I didn’t… tell you. It’s that, after all of that, I was really in the wrong frame of mind. For a while. And, um.” He blinked back some tears. “God, why is it so hard to say it?” 

 

Dean reached forward and squeezed his knee. “Whatever it is, Cas, it’s alright. I’m still gonna love you, okay?”

 

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay. After things changed, I started to… I started to cut myself. On my legs. And I did it for a while.” He made a choked sound, almost like a sob but not quite. “And I really wanted to last night.” 

 

Dean wasn’t sure what to feel, or say, about that. _Wanted to, he said he wanted to. Not ‘did.’ He’s okay._ There weren’t words, really, for that. So he settled for action instead, drawing him close and rubbing open-palmed circles on his shaking back. Slowly, he laid backward so they were flat on the mattress, Cas’ weight on top of him. He hummed in time with the movement of his hand in an attempt to be comforting. It happened to be the song they’d danced to at prom. _You’re my angel…_

 

He didn’t ask for any more details. If Cas wanted to give them, that would have to be on his own terms. After a few more iterations of the chorus, the sniffles against his neck slowed to a stop and Cas moved to roll away a little bit and wipe his eyes. He let Dean take and squeeze his spare hand, even allowing a little smile.

 

“I never told my mother outright,” he said, unsurely. As if he wasn’t quite positive this was the right detail to give right now, or if he should’ve chosen something else. “I forgot and left my bloody razor on the edge of the bathtub. When she went to the bathroom to get ready for work, she saw it. I… I had no idea she knew anything was wrong until she confronted me at dinnertime. Even then, she didn’t ask me why. She handed me a bible and told me to find 1 Corinthians, chapter 6. Verses 19 and 20. Do you know what it said, Dean?”

 

_This is going to make me hate your mother even more, isn’t it?_ he thought. That wasn’t what Cas needed to hear now, though— “I don’t,” he said instead. 

 

“It said, ‘Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body.’ She told me that the reason I shouldn’t do that to myself was because it was offensive to God. And she made me memorize that quote, and recite it to her every morning before I went to school.”

 

“How long—” Dean tried. Even he wasn’t quite sure what he was asking. How long did his mother make him recite a bible verse? How long did he cut himself? How long had it been since the last time?

 

“I’m not sure. I kept going, straight through her little intervention. I just got better at hiding it. She started making me do that right after spring break, junior year,” he refused to meet his eyes, “and she decided I’d learned my lesson around Christmas of senior year.”

 

It didn’t take much mental math to realize. They got assigned that project at the end of September that year. They were already dating by homecoming, which meant Cas was probably still—

 

“Were you…”

 

“Yes, for a few months. I decided to stop when we started applying to colleges. I slipped a couple of times after that, but it’s been almost a year and a half since the last time.” January of freshman year— he thought back. They had been fighting. And Cas seemed unreasonably withdrawn and upset about the whole thing. That was because…

 

Surely Cas could actually see the gears turning in his head. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he offered. “I should’ve talked to you. I should’ve told you all of this a long time ago. I mean, last night I said I’ve shared everything with you, and here I was, keeping this secret. I’m sorry, Dean.” A few fresh tears threatened to roll loose; Dean wiped them away as they fell with his thumb. 

 

“It’s okay, angel. Just… you tell me if you ever start thinking about doing it again, okay? We’ll sort it out.” 

 

“I love you,” he said, in lieu of an agreement. 

 

“I love you, too.” He leaned in and kissed him, soft, brief. A little of the hurting etched in shockingly bright eyes faded. They snuggled a little closer (it wasn’t _really_ snuggling… except, it definitely was) before Dean sighed. It was only fair that he share his nightmare story in return. 

 

_He’d finally decided to do this. His stomach rolled and he closed his eyes against it. Either this would go well or it wouldn’t, but stressing himself out wasn’t going to alter the outcome. He fixed a snack— chips were too crunchy, they’d be annoying for John to listen to while Dean worked himself up. Maybe a cookie, then, but those were always gone too fast. He never snacked on fruit, so that was out._

 

_Water. Water would be fine. He filled a glass, a little bit of ice, and took it with him to the living room. He squared his shoulders._ There’s nothing wrong with this. Nothing wrong with me, no matter how he takes it. _Dad was already on the couch when he got in there. So far, this was playing out like he’d planned it._

 

_“Hey,” he said, sitting down on the other end._ Relax. _He grunted in response, lifting a can to his mouth. It was in a koozie, so he couldn’t tell if it was beer or soda. Neither of them said anything for a few minutes, just stared blankly at the moving pictures on the screen. Somebody was blowing something up, someone was cursing. Normally Dean liked that kind of thing. Today, it barely registered._

 

_He hoped— a little part of him, anyway, that the big part of him wanted to smother— that his dad would turn to him. Ask if something was on his mind. No such luck though, and he let himself sigh internally before taking a breath._

 

_“Can I ask for advice on something?” The explosion on the screen froze and he found attention directed at him. Dean swallowed hard and met his dad’s gaze. “How do you ask someone out?”_

 

_John chuckled. “Somebody catch your eye, son?”_

 

_“Yeah.” He blushed, grabbed the back of his neck. Tipped his head down._

 

_“Well, your first step is to look confident. Girls love confidence.” Here it was, moment of truth._

 

_He coughed and licked his lips. “Actually, Dad, uh— it’s not a girl.”_

 

_“What do you mean?” John’s voice was carefully level and Dean couldn’t get a reading. He decided to throw all caution to the wind._

 

_“It’s a guy. I want to ask out this guy, Aaron.” His Dad’s eyes flashed and Dean realized, as the man snatched at the collar of his t-shirt, that charging ahead was a mistake. This was not about to go well._

 

_He expected words. A screaming match, like he always had with Sam. So it was probably mostly surprise when the first punch hurt. He hit the edge of the sofa, hard, and felt the air leave him. His diaphragm didn’t have time to collect itself before another hit landed in his chest, then his gut again, then his face. He realized he should probably make an active effort to protect himself further than instinctually raising his arms over his vital organs._

 

_The blood rushing through his ears did a lot to block out the words his father was saying, as did the fleshy thumps of fists colliding with his body. Every so often, something slipped through, though; things like “didn’t raise a—” and “fairy” and all manner of swear words that he didn’t know real people used._

 

_Mom wasn’t going to get home for another hour; she and Sam were at some volunteer thing. It was just him and his Dad and there was no way for him to get help. What he could only describe as sheer terror took hold somewhere in his chest, breaths starting to come dizzyingly fast as his father hauled him off the couch and into the coffee table. His head hit it hard enough for his vision to start going black at the edges— he gasped at the impact and coughed._

 

_“Please,” he begged around the blood in his mouth, “Dad, please, stop it.” The blows continued to rain down on him. “Stop, I’m sorry, I’m sorry Dad, stop, please, Dad…”_

 

_He kept babbling, sobs cutting through his words as the hits_ kept on coming— _to his ribs, stomach, face, groin. The world around him narrowed down to two fists and the smell of what was definitely beer on John’s breath. Over the course of what felt like an eon, at least a couple of bones cracked, sending magma rippling through his entire upper body. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that not being able to see the next hit would make it hurt less. It didn’t help._

 

_At some point, the darkness behind his eyelids became all encompassing and he stopped being able to feel the punches. He didn’t even realize he’d passed out until he could hear his frantic mother above him, though he couldn’t figure out what she was saying. She and his dad got loud and then quiet, and he heard a smacking sound, then her crying out. Somebody else— probably Sam— said something, and Dad yelled again. Dean squinted his eyes open, immediately wishing he were still unconscious when his entire body got with the program and started throbbing._

 

_“Hey, hey, Dean?” his mother fussed, “hey, keep your eyes open for me, hon. Stay awake.”_

 

_“Mom?” His mouth was dry and coppery, and it hurt to move his jaw. She and Sam helped him to sit up and the movement sent straight pain rippling through… everything. She prodded at some of the bruises on his face and poked at his ribs before he flinched away— which hurt like hell, might he add._

 

_“That’s definitely broken. We need to get you to the hospital.”_

 

_“He’s not going to the goddamn hospital, Mary. Boy needs to man up and take it.”_

 

_“His ribs are broken!”_

 

_“Deserves it, little fa—”_

 

_“Don’t you dare, John Winchester,” she snapped. Her voice softened when she turned to Sam. “Would you please go get me an ice pack?”_

 

_“Sure,” he squeaked over his shoulder as he ran to the kitchen. Mom kept a gentle hand on his shoulder as she turned to John and barked at him to go get the first aid kit out of their bathroom. His mother was a force to be reckoned with when she got angry— and right now, she was spitting mad. Sam returned with the ice as their dad lowered his head and assented. As tenderly as possible, Mary took it and pressed it to the epicenter of_ ow _on his left side. Dean hissed and she apologized. It occurred to him that he was now on the floor._

 

_“What— what happened?”_

 

_“You tell me, love,” she sighed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to mediate. It probably would’ve saved you a lot of pain.”_

 

_“It’s okay, Mom. I made a choice, now I have to deal with the fallout.” She smiled sadly at him and adjusted the ice. Sam hovered awkwardly by Dean’s side, clearly wanting to help but not knowing how. John returned with the canvas sack full of medical supplies._

 

_Mary did her best to get him into some semblance of working order before helping him up and into a kitchen chair. Sam sat next to him solemnly as she began to fix dinner; nobody paid much mind to John, except for Mom scoffing as the sound of the television started from the next room._

 

_Dean closed his eyes and tipped his head back to lean against the backrest of his seat. Sam grabbed for his hand and he looked back up._

 

_“Can’t do that, Dean. Mom says you have a concussion and if you fall asleep you might die.”_ Right, not a good idea. _“Dude, what happened?”_

 

_“Sam—”_

 

_“No, Mom, it’s okay. I, uh, I told Dad that I wanted to ask out a guy.” He allowed a moment for that to process before continuing. “He wasn’t really a fan.”_

 

_“Okay. That’s, um, new information.” He coughed. “But Dad shouldn’t have done that.”_

 

_“No, he shouldn’t have,” his mother agreed. The vegetables she was chopping were probably in serious pain, judging from the harsh click of the knife against the cutting board in machine-gun fire time. The oven timer went off and the beeping rattled around inside his ringing head like a pinball until she silenced it. A nice smell filled up the kitchen and he allowed himself to focus on it._

 

_With a clipped tone, she called his father to the table. Dad stomped to his seat— like a child— and each thudding step had Dean shying away a little more. Dinner was served in silence, even their forks and knives clinking quieter than normal against the plates._

 

_“It’s good, Mom. Thanks,” Sam ventured. She smiled and nodded at him, Dad cleared his throat. Dean’s chicken breast went untouched because he couldn’t let go of the ice on his ribs long enough to cut it. The mashed potatoes needed salt, but that would sting in the cuts on his lip and require asking somebody to pass it to him, so he said nothing and ate them without complaint. They were easy to swallow, at least, and gentle on his roiling stomach. His entire body felt clenched at the tense ‘don’t-move’-ness of the room._

 

_Some time passed, documented by the echoing tick of the clock but he didn’t dare look to see how much, before John spoke up. “Learn your lesson, Dean?” he growled. Mary’s breath hitched; he didn’t need to look at her to know her eyes were the size of dessert plates._

 

_He could make this easy for himself. Say ‘yessir, I’m sorry sir,’ and be done with it. But of all the things Dean knew— don’t go down fourth street because you’ll get mugged or make sure your brother gets to school safe or Mom’s favorite flowers are carnations and daffodils— how to make things easy for himself was not one of them._

 

_“What, you think a couple of punches are going to magically turn me straight?” His brother gasped and Dad stood up so fast the chair fell over. Before he could react his father was yanking him up out of his seat and slamming him against the wall. When the hits started coming this time, they hurt worse than he expected, probably because he’d had time to get used to their echo rather than the blows themselves. He vaguely noted Mary scrambling for the wall phone— Dad had told her not to do that. Not good._

 

_“Dad, stop!” Sam made his best effort to tug him away with his barely-pubescent beanpole arms. John snarled, animalistic, and turned his attention to him. Without the hand around his throat pinning him to the wall, he crumpled like a rag doll to the cool linoleum— which felt good against his battered face._

 

_“Sammy,” Dean tried, weakly. Just the one word sapped his oxygen supply and he gasped for air, feeling like a drowning man. His plea did no good, and his little brother was met with a fist cracking across his face before either of them knew what happened. He staggered backwards into the edge of the table. Their father took one looming step toward him and he whimpered, clutching his cheek. There was terror in his eyes, but still he moved around the man twice his size to stand over his older brother._

 

_He crossed his arms and set his jaw, allowing one, “No,” before he became a silent barricade. John landed a few hits to his torso and the phone banged against the wall as Mary dropped it to swing from its pendulum, running to drag her younger son away. She shoved him towards the front door and went back for Dean, acting as a shield as he found his jello-y legs again. He heard sirens._

 

_He took a few stumbling steps towards the wide-open door— Sammy hadn’t closed it, just ran to the edge of the driveway to wave over two cop cars and an ambulance— before his collar was snatched and he lurched back; the nausea protested and his mashed potatoes made a reappearance over his socked feet. Then Mom ripped his shirt from his father’s fist and wrapped an arm around his waist to drag him away from their aggressor. A sprinkling of police officers sprinted up the walkway. Dean allowed numbness to take over as somebody else handled the situation._

 

_Dad got violently dragged away in cuffs and Dean got gently dragged into a waiting ambulance. They let Mom and Sam ride with him, and they answered any questions the paramedics had because he couldn’t breathe very well at all, let alone enough to talk. The drugs they gave him took away the pain, which was greatly appreciated, and he was allowed to drift into a floaty sort of headspace where he didn’t have to think about anything or direct his focus any particular direction._

 

_Somebody at the hospital patched up his various cuts and bruises and confirmed his mother’s declaration that he had a few broken ribs. He was given more painkillers and they kept him overnight for the concussion, but there really wasn’t a lot for them to do. Mary and a police officer came in the next morning to gather details about what happened. After that there were some papers he had to sign and pictures taken of all his wounds and several people talked about restraining orders. He tried not to pay attention to any of it; the final statement from his mother was that he wouldn’t have to worry about his dad anymore and that it would be just the three of them from now on._

 

_It took some adjustment to get used to having Dad gone; Mom took on more hours at work and Dean got a little more responsible for his brother. There was less walking on eggshells and they removed the liquor cabinet from the kitchen. He asked his mother for advice on asking a guy out and landed a date with Aaron (after the bruises healed, of course). His friends were careful not to talk about family matters at first, but eventually their concerned puppy eyes stopped and everything fell into normalcy. He was just… standard. A standard bisexual teenager with a single mom and a little brother and mediocre grades. And that was fine by him._

 

Dean tried to censor as much of the gory detail as was reasonable. One look from Cas as he tried to play off coughing up blood as something minor and he cracked, telling the story in its entirety. He refused to cry— he’d done enough of that when recounting the story to his mother and his brother and the cops and his guidance counsellor and his friends and himself over and over again before falling asleep at night for months afterward. A part of him had felt guilty about the whole thing, because if he’d kept his mouth shut Sam would still have a dad in the house and his mom wouldn’t have to work so hard to keep life going the way it used to. 

 

He hadn’t intended to voice that part. Cas took his hand and told him, “Dean, they’re better off. Your father showed his true colors that night, and you and your family don’t have to deal with that sort of darkness in your lives anymore. There’s nothing to be guilty about.” Now it was his own turn to cry. For God’s sake. “And I shouldn’t have prodded. That was your own story to tell and I should’ve let you tell it on your own time.” 

 

Dean sniffed hard and scrubbed the salt water out of his eyes. “Nah, you were right. You deserve to know, I probably never would’ve told you if it weren’t for you prodding.” He let his teeth show in the smile which broke free without any help from him. He laughed a little. “Look at us.”

 

Cas sniffled and agreed. “Look at us.”

 

“You think we’re gonna make it?”

 

“You know, I really do.”


	8. Chapter 8

During the first semester of junior year, the boys hardly saw each other. They’d moved off campus, and between classes and work, spending quality time together slowly slid lower and lower down their priority list. They kept a jar on the kitchen table labelled ‘Nigeria Fund’— any and all spare change went to it. They kept a tally running on the whiteboard hanging on the fridge of how much they saved each month; and all that dough went towards the volunteer trip. 

 

Run ragged, working at their respective jobs whenever they weren’t in class or asleep, they barely had the time just to convene for meals. It was only when he had to turn down Benny’s invitation to go out with the group for the third time in a month that Dean realized they both needed to slow down a bit. 

 

“Hey, angel?” he tried one night, when Cas flipped off the lights and bundled under the covers. He got a sleepy sound of acknowledgement. 

 

“What is it?” 

 

“How are you? Seriously. We haven’t really talked in a while.”

 

“I’m okay, Dean. Tired. A little stressed about work and a paper I have due.” He yawned. “What about you, love?”

 

“I,” he sighed, “I feel like I’m burning out. I think I’m going to ask Mike to cut down my hours a bit this week. If I keep going at this rate I’ll have a nervous breakdown before midterms even start.”

 

“Oh, Dean,” Cas said, moving closer to him under the blankets and cupping his jaw. “Why didn’t you say something?”

 

“We’ve got to get the cash together if we want to go on this trip.”

 

“Nigeria’s still going to be there if we don’t make it until next summer.”

 

“I know that, Cas. But… I know how much you want to do this. It’s— helping people. Improving quality of life, and when you do that, it’s just. You light up. It’s like you’ve got some sort of star inside you or something, and I wanted to help make that happen.”

 

“Dean. Sweetheart. Darling. Dear.” He seemed to grapple for words for a moment, before deciding. “Do you know how much I love you? I don’t have the language for it. I really hope you understand already, because there’s no way for me to tell you just how incredible you are.”

 

After a fair amount of kissing, they both agreed to slow down a little bit. Dean finally got to call Benny and Charlie back to make plans and they returned to their roots a few Saturday mornings and went to Rosie’s (something they’d cut to make more room in their budget. She was happy to see them.)

 

It was one such morning, relaxing in what was still ‘their’ booth, that Cas turned to him and asked, “Do you know when I first realized I loved you?”

 

Dean thought back. Was there any little moment, any shift which might have told him before they said the words that rainy day in his bedroom? He shook his head.

 

“It was that day you told me we had to be subtler about our relationship. Remember?”

 

Yeah. Victor and his cronies had knocked him around a bit after school, trying to get him to confess to being in a relationship with another guy. He remembered Gordon leaning in real close, illicitly acquired tobacco on his breath, and whispering that he knew Dean had been ‘working on corrupting that tight-laced kid. Novak, yeah? Bet you _love_ the idea of turning him into one of you.’ He’d never told Cas the whole story, just that word was getting around about them and they needed to keep it on the down low until the rumors died down if Cas wanted to keep his secret. 

 

“Yeah, I remember. Why then?”

 

“Because you were trying to protect me, even that early. We’d been dating for maybe three weeks at that point, and you cared enough to get in a fight about it.” How did he— “That, and you were willing to sneak around all year just to help me stay in the closet.” Dean was still a little dumbfounded that Cas knew what happened until he chuckled and added, “You had bruised knuckles and a split lip when you told me. It wasn’t that hard to connect the dots, love.”

 

He tried to pick out one point in his memories, one where it hit him like a sack of bricks or a freight train or whatever metaphor was supposed to fit here, when he realized that he was in love with Cas. Try as he might, there wasn’t any specific event he could recall. It was more like falling asleep, really. Not realizing what was happening until it was too late to turn back— not that he’d change it for the world. He told Cas as much. 

 

“Sap,” he laughed. “You want to get out of here?”

 

“Sure.”

 

They walked, hand in hand down the block, kind of aimlessly. Neither of them had anyplace to be today, so they spent the time enjoying the comfortable spring weather. 

 

“You ever think about getting married?” Dean asked, then added, “Maybe after we graduate.” It was surprising they hadn’t had this talk already, having been together four years. Dean had known people who met, got engaged, married, and divorced in less time. The topic had just never come up.

 

“I think I’d like that.”

 

“Yeah? Want to wear a ring on this finger,” he squeezed his hand for emphasis, “become ‘the other Mr. Winchester’?”

 

“Mm, I think that sounds perfect.” He slowed their walking enough to pull Dean into a slow kiss in the middle of the sidewalk. He was leisurely and tender, like he had all the coffee-and-cinnamon-flavored time in the world. There was no give and take, no push for dominance, just warm, supple lips between his for no other reason than Cas loving him. It was a pretty great feeling and it came to an end all too soon. 

 

“You wanna maybe go home and keep going with this, honeybee?” he smiled. 

 

“You’re having all sorts of good ideas today.”

 

◎❃◎

 

The money situation worked out well enough that they were able to take their trip that summer after all. There was time to go home for Sam’s 17th birthday party (the kid was growing like a weed— Dean had had a good half foot on him before leaving for college, and now, well. He didn’t know what the hell happened) and spend a few days in town before their Sunday flight. Cas was lit up like a Christmas tree, practically vibrating with excitement. It looked like he was about to have an aneurysm as they loaded their suitcases into the trunk of the car. 

 

Trepidation didn’t set in until after they got to the airport. They’d gone through baggage check and gotten through security before Dean realized he’d never been in a plane before. There was a big window in the waiting area by their gate and he passed the time watching take-offs and landings. Was it this hot in here a few minutes ago?

 

“Are you okay?” Cas asked, putting a hand on his bouncing knee.

 

“I dunno.”

 

“How about we grab some lunch? I think I saw a pizza stand a little while ago. I’ve heard airplane food is gross, anyway.”

 

“Yeah, that. That sounds like a good plan.” It was only when they were standing in the (frankly, ridiculous) line in front of California Pizza Kitchen that he confessed, “I’ve never been on a plane before.”

 

Cas nodded thoughtfully. “I have, once. It was my parents and I, we were going to Connecticut to visit some relatives. I’m still not actually sure how I was related to them. From what I remember, it was mostly boring. My ears hurt.” Somehow Cas knew exactly what he needed to hear. “If it weren’t for my mother I don’t know we would’ve survived that trip,” he continued. “Father almost skipped the baggage claim entirely.” That pulled a snort from Dean. 

 

“I promise not to forget our bags at the airport.”

 

“Well, good. I’m not sure how long we’d last in Nigeria without bug spray. It’s not in our carry-ons, you know.”

 

“You and your bug spray,” Dean laughed, “I swear to God, you packed like a case of that stuff.”

 

“Only ten cans!” Cas squawked. 

 

“We’re only going to be there for eight weeks. I dunno if Nigerian mosquitos are quite that hungry, babe.” He chuckled and tightened his arm around Cas’ waist. “I love you.”

 

“I love you, too.” 

 

The woman in line in front of them finished placing her order. “You two are too sweet,” she said, before taking her cardboard carton over to one of the little tables across the walkway from the booth. He and Cas smiled at one another and placed their order. Until their zone was called for boarding, Dean forgot to be nervous, sufficiently distracted by his beautiful boyfriend and his dry wit. 

 

They found the seats listed on their tickets— 46 A and B. Dean took one look at the row and blanched— according to his ticket, he was sitting right next to the window. 

 

“Switch. Please. I need to not be there.” Already he could feel his heart rate ramping up. Without a word, Cas obliged, sliding into the seat with a placating smile. He followed and strapped himself in immediately, even if the logical part of him knew the plane wouldn’t be taking off for quite a while. As the flight attendants detailed what to do in any of the multitude of potential disasters, he wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and did his best to take control of his train of thought. It didn’t work, the train was out of control and there were sparks erupting along the tracks; scratch that, it was just his entire body starting to feel like it’s on fire. 

 

“Honey, breathe. We’re gonna be okay.” 

 

“We’re gonna be okay,” he echoed, fumbling for Cas’ hand. Long, slender fingers encased his and held tight, despite the walls of this metal death trap starting to close in on them. Dean kept repeating it as he heard the engines gun— they roared, drowning out the words tumbling out of his mouth because of course their seats were _right next to the motors_. He definitely did not whimper. 

 

When their tin can of death finally started its climb into the air, Cas threw the armrest between them backwards and tugged Dean into his side. He switched the hand that was holding his in order to wrap an arm around his shoulders, rubbing his hand back and forth with the deep breaths he was trying to convince him to mimic. Dean tried his best, really he did, but there just wasn’t enough air in this stupid plane. The hand keeping him anchored to reality let go for a moment and he scrabbled desperately for it. Cas opened up one of the puke bags from the seat pocket in front of them. 

 

“Breathe, love. Easy. In and out, in and out,” he said, holding it to Dean’s mouth. The paper smelled waxy and he did his best to even out his shallow gasps if only to get it out of his face. It helped, though, and while he still wanted nothing more than to be anyplace besides this aircraft, his vision was at least clear. When it was clear he was no longer hyperventilating, Cas dropped the bag to his lap and recollected Dean’s hand. “What do you need?”

 

“Talk to me, please, I really, really need something to distract me.”

 

“Alright, um… have I ever recited a poem for you? I used to memorize them for fun in high school. Let’s see. Keats?” The gravelly rumble of his voice knitted safety back into Dean’s bones. He could feel the words trembling in Cas’ chest with his cheek pressed against it. Realizing Cas was waiting for a response, he nodded. Truth be told, he couldn't tell you the difference between a poem by Keats, Shakespeare, or Dickinson, but Cas had a knack for finding lines which made his heart feel all light and buzzy. He could definitely use some of that at the moment. “I cry your mercy—pity—love!—ay, love!/Merciful love that tantalizes not/One-thoughted, never-wandering, guileless love,/Unmask’d, and being seen—without a blot!” He continued and Dean soaked in the rhymes. They fell off Cas’ tongue with such a comfortable, practiced ease that reminded him of the easiness Cas loved him with. Cas loved him. Cas wasn’t going to let anything happen to him on this flight. 

 

The realization allowed him to loosen his death grip on the hand in his— if he’d been squeezing any harder he probably would’ve snapped a bone— and breathe a little easier. If he closed his eyes and pretended the whirring outside the window was just the noisy air conditioner in their apartment, it was almost like being back home on the couch. 

 

Under normal circumstances, his boyfriend was not a man of many words, but he talked until he was nearly hoarse, just because Dean asked him to. After the flight attendant had pushed her cart past them a few times, Dean let Cas know that he was okay. That didn’t keep them from staying cuddled close to one another, of course. 

 

They spent a lot of the flight sleeping, because the trip was nearly 24 hours. There were two stops along the way— and he _so_ didn’t want to think about more take-offs and landings right now— but that’s a long time to be stuck with crappily-cushioned seats and a bathroom the size of a postage stamp. Unconsciousness was easily the best way around that. 

 

Dean woke when the teenager behind him jostled his seat trying to get to her bag; People were starting to shuffle down the aisle. Cas snored a little beside him— his bedhead had somehow made an appearance, even though there were no pillows in sight, just a hoodie on the tray table— and burrowed deeper into his seat. 

 

“Babe.” He shook his shoulder. “Babe, wake up. We landed.” Cas squinted up at him blearily and made a vaguely growly sound. “Come on, you can sleep some more once we get on the other plane.”

 

The second and third legs of the trip were easier than the first. Dean still squeezed Cas’ hand so tight that he was wincing whenever the plane was in close proximity to the ground, but he maintained his breathing capabilities. 

 

It took forever, but they finally made it through customs and baggage claim and out onto the sidewalk outside the airport. It was so humid Dean could hardly catch his breath— Cas seemed to be struggling, too. Already he could feel sweat materializing on his skin. He scanned the line of cars in the pickup line— according to the website, there should be an orange van with the program’s logo to take them to the village where they’d be staying. It took a little while, but eventually they spotted it, creeping at a snail’s pace near the back of the line. They waved it down and a young woman hopped out to help them with their bags. 

 

Including her and the driver, there were five people in the vehicle. One was Kevin from the soup kitchen, who they hadn’t expected but were glad to see nonetheless. Next to him was a bespectacled redhead with a book in her lap— Dean had shared a few classes with her, Jennifer or Julia or something like that— and the other was a dusty sort of professor who huffed a little when Dean draped an arm over Cas’ shoulders. 

 

Dean made a joke, a ragtag group of folks with good hearts looking to make the world a better place, what a blockbuster, and they all laughed a little before relaxing in their seats for the drive over barren, dusty roads that clearly hadn’t seen too many tires. 

 

The young woman spoke up. “Alright, crew, we’re going to get there in about five minutes. Now, there’ll be orientation and the like when we arrive, but let’s go over some basics now. I’m Emily. When we get to the village, you’ll have some time to unpack before lunch, then we’ll brief you and you can get started with either building or teaching. Everybody will do at least a little of both while you’re here, but if you have a preference you can do more with one or the other.” She proceeded to explain housing— tents— mealtimes, and a handful of common sense health and safety procedures (don’t drink water straight out of the river, guys). 

 

When the van puttered to a stop near a small community, everybody piled out. Emily pulled Dean and Cas aside. “Listen,” she said nervously. “You two, I’m going to assume you’re together? That needs to be on the down-low while you’re here. I, personally, have no problem with it, and neither does the organization, but around here there are a lot of really strict laws and you two can get in big trouble if you’re suspected of being… you know.” The red flame to her cheeks clearly wasn’t entirely heat-related. 

 

“Got it. We’re just friends for the next few weeks,” Dean agreed. Cas nodded and Emily gave an awkward thumbs up before turning around and practically running towards the small cluster of canvas tents set up near where the ugly orange van was parked. The boys rolled their eyes at one another and looked around. 

 

Their accommodations for the next two months were taupe colored, each tent large enough to hold two people. There were maybe a half dozen gathered around some tables and chairs and a grill. Nearby, there was a scattering of what might generously be called huts. They were circular, not much larger than the tents, and made of what looked like straw— or perhaps grass— with thatched roofs. There were a few nicer ones, which looked more like buildings. They were larger and square shaped, brick walls and tiled roofs with windows and doors. Dean assumed that they were built by the volunteers who’d been here before them. 

 

The entire world was yellow-brown and green, and the air tasted like dust and mortar. The top layer of dirt on the ground shifted under his boots as he and Cas made their way to one of the empty tents. They dropped their suitcases by their respective beds— not that they’d stay in them separately— and Cas grinned. 

 

“I’m so excited, Dean. I can’t even imagine how incredible this is going to be.” 

 

“Yeah? Me too. This seems pretty cool.” Somewhere outside, a big bell rang. Through their wide-open tent flaps, they could see people in orange t-shirts amassing around the grill. Lunchtime, then. “Hungry?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

Lunch was something called yamarita— somebody who’d been there longer informed them it was fried yam. To go with it, there was a hot, chunky sauce with pieces of onion, tomato, and pepper. Dean loved it. 

 

“We’re definitely gonna have to learn how to make this once we get back to the States, Cas.”

 

They broke for afternoon work with everybody else— Cas wanted to start building the new school, while Dean went to work with the kids who would soon be using it. 

 

He, Kevin, and Emily made their way to the wooden frame under which a mass of students were sitting. There was a straw roof and a chalkboard at the front, rows of benches for the kids stretching to the end of the structure. Each of them had two books and a little writing tablet, and not much else. 

 

Emily wrote an equation on the board. It was a division problem, a simple one with a one-digit and a two-digit number. She spent a few minutes explaining long division while the students and the other teachers looked on. She had a little girl come up and do a problem on the board, then wrote down a few more equations for all the kids to solve. 

 

A few rows back, one boy sat with his brow furrowed, his eyes darting between the large board up front and the small one in his lap. Dean walked over to him. 

 

“Hey, kid. I’m Dean, what’s your name?”

 

“Obi.”

 

“You look like you’re having some trouble, there, Obi. Need some help?”

 

The kid was smart, and he caught on fast. Dean showed him a trick using arrows so he didn’t lose track of where he was in the problem— Sammy had had the hardest time with long division until they’d worked that one out— and watched as he started to do the problems in his head, drawing lines in the air in front of him. Dean high-fived him. 

 

The three adults moved through the little school, helping here and there and encouraging the kids to work together. The air vibrated with the sounds of pencils scratching on pages and birds chirping in the trees nearby. Once everybody seemed to have a firm grasp of the concept, Emily handed Dean a piece of chalk. 

 

“You guys did great with that. Now Dean’s going to show us the next step.” They ramped up the problem level a bit and repeated the process. You could see, one-by-one, as the process clicked for each child. He couldn’t help the little spurt of pride in the middle of his chest, knowing that he was responsible for some of those “oh”s and “I got it!”s. The sea of identical blue uniforms rippled when the students turned to one another to talk about it. 

 

They took a break and worked on geography for a little while before Emily dismissed everyone and the blue uniforms fled back to their homes. She, Kevin, and Dean tidied up the area, making sure nothing had been left behind by the kids and that their supplies wouldn’t get blown away if the wind kicked up that night. Dinner was served shortly thereafter, and then he and Cas went to their tent. 

 

“How was your day?” Dean asked, digging through his suitcase for a pair of sweatpants. 

 

“Every muscle in my upper body is sore, but it was good.” Cas peeled off his tight, sweat-soaked t-shirt and tossed it into the special bag he’d packed for laundry. Dean added his dusty clothes and they shoved it under the extra bed. Their suitcases sat on top of it. 

 

Cas got in bed first, his dark hair all spread out on the pillow, and he groaned as he lifted his arm to rub at his neck. Dean sat on the edge beside him and pulled away the hand, replaced it with both his own and set to untying the knots done up in his shoulders. Cas muffled his groans of relief in his pillow— they didn’t want to alarm the girls in the next tent over, as the sounds were pretty indicative of something else going on— as Dean worked the muscles into putty. He moved down, switching from shoulders to arms and rubbing the soreness out there, too. Cas was doing his best jello impression by the time Dean pressed a kiss to each shoulder blade and then got under the covers. 

 

“You, darling, are… I don’t have the words,” he slurred, “Incredible. Miraculous. Otherworldly.”

 

“You know,” Dean smiled, “most people start using smaller words once they’re so tired they can barely function.” Cas swatted his shoulder and laughed. 

 

“I’m trying to be nice.”

 

“I know. And you’re doing a very good job.” He kissed him. “Because I happen to think you’re very nice. And otherworldly.” Cas yawned in response. “You should get some sleep. We’ve got to be up early in the morning.”

 

He mumbled something which sounded like ‘I love you’ into the pillow. Dean turned down the little lantern on the floor and closed his eyes. 

 

Breakfast was a small affair, all squinty-eyed young adults glaring blearily at their mugs of dark coffee. The professor guy wasn’t up yet, Dean supposed, as their little posse was all made up of the under-thirty crowd. He didn’t pay much mind to the food aside from it tasted good and didn’t look too weird. The sun was barely past the horizon. Pink clouds striped across the sky as light slowly pushed back against the darkness; the world was bright enough that he felt at least semi-awake by the time he finished his breakfast. The other volunteers glared at their java and chewed on their toast with robotic movements; Cas’ hair stood in a million different directions. Dean swore he heard him snarl when one of the program coordinators rang the bell and got out a megaphone to give some announcements for the day. 

 

He wanted to work with the kids again and Cas, rolling his aching shoulders, decided to join him. They spent the morning working through a story in one of the textbooks. It was almost painstakingly simple to him, but he realized that for a bunch of little kids in a language which wasn’t their own, it was pretty difficult. None of them could have been more than ten years old, he’d guess, with the youngest of them being around five. He’d noticed a few teenagers in the village when they got here, but assumed they’re helping the adults with… well, whatever it was the local adults were doing. He really should find out more about that.

 

They had lunch, and went back to the kids afterward. By the time they were halfway through the math lesson— more division— he was completely over the taste of chalk dust in his mouth. It clung to his hands, mingling with the dust which formed a crust over any and all of his exposed skin. Despite liberal application of one of Cas’ ten cans of bug spray, he was already finding mosquito bites. 

 

But the wind carried a bit of indiscernible, high-pitched chatter and he remembered again why he was doing this. Watching as important things clicked for these kids felt… well, it felt _good_. He was already having a good time, despite the dirt and bugs trying to eat him alive. 

 

After dinner, they went to hang out with their group. The jet lag was starting to wear off, so they didn’t feel the need to crash before the sun went down. 

 

Turns out that the group of four who’d driven to the camp together were the only ones from Kansas. Emily was from Phoenix and a large group of siblings who’d been working on the building came from a little town in Minnesota. One of the brothers got a little bonfire going in the middle of the eating area. They all gathered their chairs around it, passing a handful of flasks around and talking about life. Dean felt like a part of the crew, and said as much. 

 

“Oh, it’s more than that,” one guy, Jake, said. “We aren’t just a crew. We’re a family. Once you’re out here for a few weeks, well. Nobody back home really gets this stuff, you know? This is my third trip out here. We have reunions every couple months, my volunteer groups from the last two.”

 

They may not have been a full family yet, but Dean could easily see how they’d get to that point. The fire popped during lulls in conversation as if to add its opinion, flickering orange face smiling at the people in the circle. That, combined with whatever he’d gotten a few sips of earlier warmed him inside and out. Despite the mosquito bites, he was content. 

 

A couple of days passed. Cas alternated between working on the schoolhouse and teaching, where Dean stuck with the chalkboard. Emily realized, a little over halfway through the first week, that he hadn’t yet worked on the building project. He was “coerced” into switching, at least for the day. Cas went with him. 

 

After a morning’s work on the walls, carting heavy bricks back and forth and heaving them onto the wall just-so, he was the kind of bone-deep exhausted he’d only been a few times before. It was the same as when he and Cas had moved into their apartment and Cas had somehow batted his eyelashes just enough to convince Dean to haul all their books up three flights of stairs. There was satisfaction here, though. The ache in his muscles had come from making something, bringing into existence something which hadn’t been there before he arrived. He’d done work with his own two hands and the effort he’d put in was visible.

 

He helped with some math problems that afternoon, and sang some of his favorite songs for the kids. Just because they didn’t have cassette players out here didn’t mean these kids should live Metallica-less existences. 

 

Cas insisted on rubbing the tension out of Dean’s neck and shoulders that night the way Dean had done for him before. It took some convincing, eventually taking the form of “If you don’t let me do this for you, you’ll be sore in the morning and then I’ll have to listen to your complaining.” After the fact, all Dean had to say on the matter was that Cas’ hands were magical.

 

He still smelled like the thick, brown, muddy mortar the next morning. Come to think of it, he was probably pretty rank. There weren’t showers out here, 20 miles out from where Jesus lost his sandals. There was, however, a river a little ways away from the camp and village, and Emily told him when he asked that he was just supposed to bring some soap and a washcloth out there. He left right after breakfast to scrub off his brand new protective layer of sweat, chalk, dirt, brick, and dried mortar. Christ, the stuff was even in his ears. By the time he got back, everybody was already getting to work. 

 

He wore his program t-shirt, ugly and fluorescent orange as it was, but only because it was on top of his suitcase and he needed to get dressed in a hurry. The lesson was about figuring out what new words meant based on context. Incidentally, Dean figured this out on the fly, due to missing the first twenty minutes or so of class. There were more volunteers in the school than normal that day, and he found himself without much to do. He decided to chance a look across the clearing to where the new schoolhouse was being built. 

 

Cas was working over there for the morning, currently heaving bricks from the pallet outside onto the ledge where one of the siblings had spread some mortar for him. Even from where Dean was, he could see his muscles rippling with the effort. (Those bricks were damn heavy.) He had to admit, it was pretty hot. The guy was sweating and probably tired out of his mind, but there was a sort of glow emanating from him, almost like a halo. Fitting, for someone so… well, angelic. 

 

Dean played soccer against a few of the kids later, when they took a break for recess. While he had the advantage of size, they’d clearly had tons more practice than him. He didn’t go easy on them at all and still found himself losing. Eventually one of the girls took pity on him and joined his team. Everything was going well until somebody tripped and the ball skittered away into a thicket of bushes. Immediately, all the children began to mope. One even started to tear up. 

 

“Hey, guys, it’s okay. I’ll just go get it.” He took off before anybody could start crying in earnest. 

 

As it turned out, running at high speed into a patch of bushes with inch long thorns all over them was not a fun experience. He got stuck more times than he cared to count while looking for the soccer ball— eventually he found it and held up his trophy proudly for the kids. They all just stood there, looking shocked. Nobody said anything once he jogged over. 

 

“Hey, come on. Just some thorn pricks. I’ll be fine. You guys can’t tell me you’ve never lost a soccer ball to a bush before.”

 

Obi spoke up. “It’s not the thorns, Mr. Dean. It’s the flies. Their bite hurts badly and they can make you very sick.” Dean took a moment to mentally parse through his encounter with the bushes and couldn’t remember any bugs. 

 

“You don’t have to worry about me. There weren’t any flies out there.” He passed the ball to the nearest child. “Let’s keep playing.”

 

Kevin interrupted their fun to bring focus back to textbooks once recess was over. He was probably that guy in high school who called the cops on the end of year party, if Dean had to take a guess. They dug deeper into the pages of the math books until Emily came by from the building site to dismiss the kids. As Dean was packing up, Obi caught his hand. 

 

“Mr. Dean?”

 

“Just Dean is fine, Obi. What’s on your mind?”

 

“I’m… I don’t know the word. I think it’s ‘afraid’. You went to the bushes to get our football and I don’t want you to get sick because of the flies. My mother has medicine.”

 

“Is concerned the word you’re looking for?”

 

“Yes, that’s it. I’m concerned,” he said, nodding solemnly. Dean smiled at him. 

 

“Well, that’s nice of you, kiddo. I’m okay, but if it would make you feel better we can go see about that medicine.” The kid grinned all gummy and took Dean’s hand. He dragged him along towards the cluster of huts which belonged to the locals.

 

There was an unspoken divide between the residents and the volunteers. A sort of ‘you stay on your side and we’ll stay on ours.’ The program leaders worked coordination, of course, so that the kids got to school and new houses got occupied, but Dean hadn’t even talked to his pupils’ parents. There was rarely any time for it, anyway. The local adults were busy keeping their village running, and Dean’s group were spending all their time building and teaching. Eat, sleep, repeat. 

 

They came upon a shack which, to Dean, looked identical to all the others. Obi opened the door and called for his mother’s attention. She was thin and wore a flowy orange dress; the fabric looked soft where it draped over her figure. Red and white embroidery garnished the collar in a rhomboidal design, brass-colored jewelry embedded with stones decorating her neck and earlobes. 

 

The pair exchanged a few words in Igbo; Dean didn’t understand any of it but after a minute Obi turned to him and said, “She will help you.”

 

Dean was seated on the little pallet at the far edge of the room and the mother came over with a few little pots of salve. She chatted with her son about, Dean presumed, what each had done that day, and what had happened to scratch Dean up. 

 

He took the opportunity to see how his students lived when they weren’t in class in the little wall-less schoolhouse. The cot he currently occupied was one of two pieces of furniture in the little building. There was a thick mat laid out on the floor which he supposed served as a bed for Obi. A small shelving unit made of something that looked like bamboo stood against the wall by the door. On it rested all variety of things. There were a few articles of clothing neatly folded on the bottom, beside two metal pots. On the shelf above that was a basket out of which peeked a few vegetables. There were a few plastic containers beside it which might have held other food; some knives and a cutting board, as well. A few pillows formed a circle around a little fire pit across from the beds— the seating area took up about half the space inside the bungalow. There was nothing on the walls and nothing to divide any part of the living space. Dean couldn’t imagine living in a space this small with so little privacy. A part of him twisted in sympathy for Obi and his family, since they had so little, but it didn’t feel so potent as it normally did when he was helping with people less fortunate than him. Maybe it was because nobody seemed to miss any of the comforts of first world life that he enjoyed. 

 

Obi’s mother’s salves smelled herby and felt cool on his skin. She inspected the exposed parts of his arms and legs for fly bites and found nothing, then said something quiet to her boy.

 

“She says to tell you that you are very lucky, Mr. Dean,” Obi said gravely. Dean nodded; apparently these bugs were bad news. The woman patted his knee once and packaged up the creams. Dean asked Obi how to thank her and tried his best to copy the syllables, tongue tripping over them in their unfamiliarity. She smiled and gave him a quick hug, then Obi walked him back to the volunteer encampment. 

 

The following few weeks passed in the same way; they and the other volunteers had the weekends off and got to take day trips to the coast and some of the more urban areas. Cas took the most ridiculous pictures at every touristy thing they came across. Dean always rolled his eyes with a fond smile and ruffled a hand through his perpetually mussed hair. Before he knew what happened, they were crawling under the covers on their cot for the last time. Cas curled around him, chest to shoulder blades, and sighed happily.

 

“I’m glad we came here, Dean,” he murmured. “We’ve gotten to see so many things that most people will never see in their lives, and I feel like we’ve made an impact with the work we’ve done here.”

 

“Everything you’d hoped it would be, then, huh?”

 

“That and so much more. Thank you for doing this with me.”

 

“You don’t have to thank me, angel. I’ve had fun, too.” He turned in Cas’ arms so they were face-to-face. “And besides,” he kissed him, “I got to see you helping people, which is a reward in and of itself. Do you know just how beautiful you are?”

 

He couldn’t see it in the complete darkness of the tent, but Dean was sure Cas was doing that thing where he blushed and bit his lip, eyes cast downwards. He thumbed over his cheekbone. 

 

“I love you so much, Cas.”

 

“I love you, too.”

 

Cas pressed his chapped lips to Dean’s, moving slowly. They were in perfect sync, so much time together giving them perfect, infallible knowledge of exactly how to fit each curve and line of their mouths together. They took turns pushing and pulling, taking advantage of every memorized trick to get gasps and quiet moans. When they finally pulled away, his lips tasted like Cas. 

 

The two of them steeped in comfortable silence for a little while. Eventually, Cas broke it, “I’ve been thinking.”

 

“A dangerous pastime.” 

 

Cas laughed and swatted at him. “Shut up. I’m serious.”

 

“Alright, alright. What’s on your mind, babe?”

 

“You’re really good with kids. I mean, look at you these past several weeks.” Dean hummed and waited patiently while Cas grappled for the words. “Do you— have you ever thought about us… starting a family?”

 

Truth be told, he’d never really considered it. Just fleeting thoughts of a white picket fence life, a job and Cas by his side, maybe a few little Winchesterlings running around the backyard. Would he make a good dad? He’d had a pretty awful role model, after all. But… Cas was right. He _was_ good with kids. And he loved being around them, watching brand new people figure out how to function and thrive within the world they lived in. But was he ready to be responsible for one? Could he handle a little life being placed in his hands?

 

“Do you want us to?”

 

“That doesn’t answer my question, love.”

 

“I know,” he said. “But humor me, would you want to have a kid?”

 

“I— I think so.”

 

He could picture it. Cas, holding a little baby with dark hair and green eyes. Singing him or her to sleep with that beautiful, rough as sandpaper voice of his, or wrapping them up in a little blanket. Carrying a little toddler on his shoulders to the park or packing a lunchbox for the first day of school. Getting insanely worried in high school when their teenager forgot to call saying they’d be home late. A whole lifetime played out in Dean’s mind like a film reel and he found himself wanting it. Badly. 

 

“I think I just might want one too.” He licked his lips. “After we graduate and stuff.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.” Dean kissed him again. “Awesome. You’re just... awesome.”

 

“You’re not so bad, yourself. Get some rest, we have to get up early to make our flight.”

 

Dean nodded and shifted to be more comfortable against his boyfriend. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to sleep, yet. If he slept, that meant this chapter of his life experience would close that much sooner. 

 

This trip had been something he’d only suggested because he’d thought it would make Cas happy. He’d worked double shifts after full days of classes and pinched every penny for months without getting all that excited. But over the course of the past two months, his outlook had done a complete 180. He felt like he was a part of something. Bigger than just himself or his family, but a circle of people who wanted to improve the lives of other people. He wanted to help people. At risk of sounding like a character at the end of a lifetime movie, he wanted to say that he was inspired. The people here, volunteers and locals alike, had taught him about putting his energy into what was important. Not a bigger apartment or a newer phone, but making the world easier and happier to live in for other people. Funny how spending two months on another continent could completely reframe your worldview. 

 

He closed his eyes and reminisced to the melody of desert wind and bugs droning. A sea of blue uniforms undulated beneath sunrise and sunset and blue sky, kids chattered in a language Dean still didn’t understand, and the taste of gleaming sweat clung to his tongue for dear life. It didn’t take long for memory to become dream, and he became lighter than his body as sleep plucked him up like a feather off the ground and carried him through the sky.


	9. Chapter 9

Cas’ birthday came two months after their return to the States. They had a night in with Benny and Charlie, pizza and a few beers and a bee documentary that Cas had been absolutely dying to see. 

 

The following day was a Saturday. Dean got up early and fixed a coffee before rousing his boyfriend, whose hair stood in every direction, making him look vaguely like a baby bird, and his shockingly bright eyes squinted against the small amount of sunlight leaking through the blinds. 

 

“What’s going on?” he grumbled, his voice like a handful of gravel tossed in a blender. “Everything okay?”

 

“Yeah, babe, everything’s fine. Get up and get ready, we’re going somewhere.”

 

“Mm. And where’s that?”

 

“It’s a surprise. C’mon, up.”

 

Begrudgingly, Cas tossed up the covers and dropped his feet to the floor. Sometimes it was like persuading a toddler out of bed, but Dean wouldn’t have it any other way. 

 

Once Cas was all caffeined up and dressed in clothes he could wear out in public, Dean herded him into the Impala and started toward the tattoo parlor he’d checked out last week. It was part of a strip mall, flanked by a Mexican restaurant and a discount party supply store, the signs peeling but the staff personable and talented. Dean parked the car at the end of the lot and turned to Cas. 

 

“What are we doing here at the crack of dawn?”

 

“Cas, it’s nine in the morning,” he laughed, “and we’re here to get you inked up.”

 

Understanding dawned on him and he looked out the window at the little shop. “Are you serious?”

 

“As a heart attack. C’mon, let’s go.”

 

Cas was grinning ear to ear when they walked in. In the front of the shop sat a dark haired woman named Pamela, her black tank top revealing colorful sleeves running down her arms and over her collarbone. She greeted Dean then pulled Cas over into what looked like a dentist’s chair. They chatted for a bit and sketched a few drafts of the sunflower Cas had been talking about since sophomore year before she started to stencil it on. 

 

Cas whimpered when the needle started to buzz. 

 

“You alright, sweetcheeks?” Pamela asked, not turning it off, but waiting to place it on his arm. He nodded tightly. “Alright, then. Let me know if you need a second.”

 

Dean took Cas’ other hand as the needle touched down. The squeezing that ensued was, he supposed, turnabout for the airplanes. Cas held his breath until his face went red, then puffed it out and gasped in again. 

 

“ _Baby you’re my angel, Come and save me tonight_ ,” he sang, rubbing little circles with his thumb against Cas’ white knuckles. “ _You’re my angel…_ ” 

 

He smiled weakly. Slowly, he unclenched a little bit. “ _Come and make it alright_.”

 

“You doin’ okay, honeybee?” 

 

“Getting there.”

 

Pamela did her thing for a while. Once she finished the parts of the design right along the edge of his arm, Cas found it a lot easier to deal with. She asked them all about how they’d met and how long they’d been together and before long Cas was giving her the unabridged version of their love story, Dean cutting in to add his perspective every now and again. After an hour and a half, she’d finished the design. 

 

The yellow flower itself was dead center on his wrist, about as big around as a golf ball and the stem scrolled up the inside of his forearm. It was all outlined in black then filled in with bright, solid green and yellow. Along the length of it were the words “Always seek the light” in a delicate and looping cursive. Dean thought it looked awesome; Cas looked like he was about to kiss Pamela for it. 

 

“Happy birthday, Cas.”

 

◎❃◎

 

Around mid-October Dean was out with Benny, probably a few drinks past the threshold of what was responsible, word vomiting all over the place about none other than the light of his life.

 

“And God, like… he’s got these eyes, Ben.”

 

“Brother, you’ve been calling Benny since you met me. And most folks do have eyes.”

 

“No, but like. They’re like… they’re _so_ blue. The bluest blue. And they’re shiny, Benny.” He took another gulp of the drink in front of him and grinned dreamily. “I just love him so much.”

 

“Why don’t you go an’ marry him, then?”

 

“I might. I might marry him, Benny. That’s a good idea.”

 

“Happy to help,” he snorted, “I think it’s time we get you home or your fiancé-to-be might come after me.”

 

The next morning, Dean regretted every drop of alcohol. It wasn’t the worst hangover he’d ever had, but that didn’t make it any more fun. Cas took pity on him and made breakfast before leaving for work, reminding him that aspirin was in the back of the left drawer in the bathroom. Fortunately it was Dean’s day off. 

 

They hadn’t gotten _completely_ trashed last night. He could remember most everything that happened, even if it was a little fuzzy around the edges— his decision to propose to Cas, though, stood out sharp as a tack in his mind. He wasn’t sure whether to be terrified or excited that the idea still seemed great in the light of day.

 

Cas… Cas made his insides go soft in all the places he’d grown up thinking he needed to be rigid and unyielding. It had been nearly 4 years since they’d gotten together and he still got butterflies in his stomach every time he looked at him across the room or leaned in for a kiss or twined their fingers together like the stitches of a quilt. It felt like nervousness and butterflies in his stomach but at the same time it didn’t. Loving Cas, it was always a fear that one day this perfect person of his would disappear from his life entirely but at the same time it was a sure and steady confidence that Cas would always be there. Dean couldn’t imagine a future in which he and Cas weren’t together.

 

His phone buzzed. Benny. 

 

8:47AM **_you remember what you said last night, right?_**

 

8:48AM _About proposing? Yeah._

 

8:48AM **_good. didn’t want to have to explain that to you._**

 

8:48AM **_were you serious?_**

 

8:49AM _deadly. thinking about looking for a ring since it’s my day off._

 

8:49AM **_Congrats, brother_**

 

8:49AM _thanks man. you wanna come with?_

 

8:50AM **_can’t today. Call Charlie?_**

 

So he did. She just about burst his eardrum squealing into the phone (though that was his own fault, he really should’ve expected it). She met him at the mall, practically shaking with excitement when they walked into the first jeweler’s. 

 

“We’re looking for a ring,” Dean told the girl at the counter.

 

“Oh, congratulations!” The blonde nodded to Charlie. “Can I measure your finger?”

 

It took about five confused seconds for them to realize what she meant, and the two of them laughed so loudly the poor woman jumped. 

 

“No, no no no,” Dean wheezed. “She’s gay, here for moral support. I’m shopping for my boyfriend.” The counter attendant flushed firetruck red.

 

“Oh God, I’m so sorry. Okay. Do you know what size we should be looking for?” From his pocket, Dean pulled a black ring. Cas had been wearing it on his middle finger pretty consistently for a few years now, but had forgotten it on his nightstand this morning. “Perfect.”

 

He swore he looked at every ring in the store before finally finding the right one: silver, shiny and smooth with a line carved all the way around the middle. It was remarkably similar to the one his mother had worn way back when. The employee packaged it in a little blue, velvety box and handed it to him with a perky, “Good luck!”

 

Dean and Charlie wandered around the mall for a little while, following the scent of hot pretzels floating on the recirculated air. “Now,” he said, “the question is how to do it.”

 

“Well, I’d love for Dorothy to pop the question with a skywriter or onstage at ComicCon but I get the feeling Cas would want something a little more understated.” She took a bite of her pretzel and considered. “Just make it special and sweet, you know? He’s a sucker for the mushy stuff.”

 

Dean sighed. How could he make it _perfect_?

 

Cas got home around five. By that point, the ring was stowed away safely in the top cabinet which held all the kitchen gear they never used. (When you get your first apartment that doesn’t belong to a university, you tend to make stupid purchases. Like a stand mixer, even if the last time you baked anything was Christmas at your mom’s house three years ago.) They had pasta and watched a stupid comedy movie and Dean almost said those four words on the spot. Their anniversary only was a week away, though, so he forced himself to wait.

 

On the day of, Dean left work early and got ready to make a couple of burgers. They’d be hot and fresh as soon as Cas got home. He lit a few candles, flipped the stereo on, and promptly realized that he was nervous out of his mind. The ring box sat heavy in his left pocket and he took it out, looked at the jewelry inside, then put it in the right. Switched it again and went to check the mirror to make sure the bulge wasn’t too obvious. “ _You must… you must allow me to tell you…_ ” he muttered under his breath, “ _You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you._ Cas, will you marry me?”

 

Alright. Okay, he could do this. Cas was gonna say yes, he knew that much. God, the stress was making his head hurt. He turned the music down in hopes it would go away. 

 

5:23PM **_On my way home, see you soon love_**

 

It took fifteen minutes. Fifteen agonizing minutes, and Dean’s stomach was roiling. His every nerve sparked when he heard the click of the lock. Once he met Cas’ eyes though, the tension in Dean’s clenched muscles thawed. 

 

“Hey,” he greeted with a kiss, “happy anniversary.”

 

“Oh, Dean, you didn’t have to go to so much trouble.” 

 

He shrugged. “I know. I wanted to, though.” He threw in a cheeky wink and Cas rolled his eyes.

 

“Romeo.”

 

“Guilty as charged,” Dean laughed. 

 

Dinner was exactly like any other dinner they’d ever had, save for the inch and a half long box searing a hole in Dean’s pocket. At the end, Cas took a sip of his beer and folded his hands in front of him on the table. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.” He tugged his lip between his teeth.

 

“Wait, Cas, first—” _He’s gonna say yes he’s gonna say yes he’sgonnasayyesjustdoityoucoward_. Dean stood from his seat and reached into his pocket. 

 

“Oh my God,” Cas gasped. Dean opened the box as he fell to one knee. 

 

“Cas— Castiel. You and I, we’ve been together for four years now. And, I mean, I know we’re still young, maybe ridiculously young, but… but there isn’t a version of my future that doesn’t have you in it. You’re all the best parts of me. _You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you._ Cas, will you marry me?”

 

He nodded frantically through the speech, barely giving Dean time to finish the question before hauling him up and into his arms. “Of course I’ll marry you,” he murmured against the juncture of Dean’s shoulder and neck. Then he laughed. “You know, one of these days I’m going to beat you to the punch.”

 

Still grinning ear to ear, Dean pulled back to bump their foreheads together and look into his eyes. “Oh yeah?”

 

“I mean, you asked me out, you let me move in with you and your family, and now this? I’m going to have to find something to do first at some point.”

 

“Aw, babe,” he chuckled, “Do you want to start over? You go first this time.”

 

“But that’s just pretend,” he pouted. “You just had to go and be all romantic and caring and ask me to marry you in the best way possible, didn’t you?”

 

Dean thumbed over his protruding bottom lip, which was threatening to turn into a smile. “Sorry, babe.”

 

“Oh, I suppose I can forgive you. Only if you get that ring on my finger, though.”

 

“Right, you kind of need that.” He pulled it from the box and worked it over his knuckle. “Perfect. The future Mr. Winchester.”

 

Cas, smiling, pulled an identical box from his own pocket. “I suppose I know your answer.”

 

“Oh, I’m not sure I know the question. I think you’ll have to spell it out for me, Cas.” 

 

He bit his lip. “I would not wish any companion in the world but you. _The Tempest,_ Shakespeare. Marry me?”

 

“I’d love to marry you.”

 

They stumbled, arms still wrapped around one another and their lips never breaking apart, out of the kitchen without cleaning up. Eyes closed, Dean walked until the backs of Cas’ knees hit the bed, then he kept going until he’d fallen on top of the guy. 

 

And Dean Winchester wasn't the sort to giggle, but he’d just gotten engaged. Sue him. This was probably the happiest he’d ever been in his entire life, his stomach felt like it was floating and he couldn’t think quite straight. He and Cas kept kissing as they migrated up the bed, heads resting on one pillow and their legs tangled together atop the covers. The overhead light had nothing on the brightness of Cas’ eyes. 

 

“I,” kiss, “love you,” kiss, “so,” kiss, “much.” Cas wound an arm around his waist and tugged him so they were flush. “And I can’t wait to be your husband.”

 

Dean found himself remembering their first night sharing a dorm. _You excited? This is kinda the rest of our lives._ “We’re gonna have the whole shebang, babe. Apple pie, white picket fence life.”

 

“You want the 2.5 kids, too?” Cas asked, sounding completely blissed out. 

 

“I don’t know how well we’d fare with a half kid running around, you know, just a pair of legs.” He breathed out a laugh and carded his fingers through Cas’ inky hair, “But just the two would be nice, don’t you think?”

 

“Two little girls running around, blonde haired and green eyed like their daddy?”

 

“Or a boy and a girl with black hair and blue eyes like their papa.” Cas hummed in agreement. “You’d make an incredible dad, Cas.”

 

“You think so?”

 

“I know so.” He snuggled impossibly closer and closed his eyes, breathing in the smell of petrichor and mint. He wanted to say something like ‘I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you’ but they’d already reached that point. He sighed contentedly. “Welcome to forever, angel.”

 

◎❃◎

 

“Please be careful,” Dean groaned, handing over the keys. He leaned against the window and covered his eyes with his hand, hoping to block out some of the light stabbing through to his brain. 

 

“I promise not to crash your beloved car, my beloved.” Cas spoke dryly, if affectionately, at Dean’s antics. “Do you need anything before we get going?”

 

“A time machine to tell the Dean Winchester of yesterday not to eat those wings. Of all days to get food poisoning.”

 

Cas smiled sympathetically and patted his leg. The Impala began to gnar like a hungry animal and Dean tried to let the sound swallow up his headache and nausea. It lulled him into an uneasy sleep (which was far better than consciousness, at this point) but he jerked awake every time they went over a decent-sized bump. It was a good thing they only lived about an hour out from Lawrence, because Dean wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.

 

Snow fell outside and landed on their coats as they got out of the car in front of Dean’s childhood home. They loaded up their arms with two duffels and a half dozen impeccably wrapped parcels, then prayed there wasn’t too much ice on the driveway as they marched up to the door. Sam and his girlfriend Jess answered their knock. Dean swayed in the doorframe, fighting to keep down the toast he’d had for breakfast.

 

“Whoa, Dean, you okay?” Sam asked. “Let’s get you guys inside.” 

 

“He ate some questionable buffalo wings for dinner last night and is now suffering the consequences. It’s good to see you, Sam.”

 

“Yeah, it’s good to see you too, man, merry Christmas.” Everybody traipsed into the kitchen and hugs were passed around in the warmth from the oven; Jess was the first to notice the rings on their fingers. 

 

“Is that what I think it is?” Sam asked as she grabbed for Cas’ hand. Everybody immediately started fawning over the metal bands. Dean slumped completely against Cas, squishing his eyes closed as his stomach rolled again. Cas rubbed a soothing hand up and down his back. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

 

“Wanted to surprise you,” Dean laughed weakly, looking up at him. Mary gave him a funny look and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. 

 

“Oh, honey, you’re burning up. Why don’t you and Cas head upstairs? I can send your brother up with plates for you.”

 

Dean smiled. She was such a mom, sometimes. “It’s my first night in town. C’mon, let’s all just sit and I’ll be fine in a few minutes.” She wasn’t having it, though, shaking her head and pushing them towards the steps. 

 

“You’ll be here for a few days,” she explained. “Get some rest so you can feel better in the morning.” Sam told Jess something to the effect of ‘Welcome to the Winchester household’ while Cas helped Dean up the stairs with a hand on the small of his back. 

 

He felt like he’d come full circle. Here, engaged and talking about starting a family in the very room he had grown up in. His fiancé— God, he would never get tired of saying that— tucked him under the covers and started unpacking their bags. 

 

“Are you sure I can’t help with anything?”

 

“Rest, Dean.”

 

Sooner or later, he did. He rested until about five in the morning, actually. The house started to come alive around him while he stared at the ceiling. Sam got up for a run and Mary began to stir around in the kitchen, fixing coffee and doing whatever it was she did to get ready for the day. He figured he could make pancakes. 

 

The kitchen cabinets were a honeyed gold color, the curtains gauzy and white. Light poured in through the windows, bathing the entire room in sunshine. Old photographs and school awards still hung on the refrigerator, a homemade loaf of bread sat on the counter, and the permanent smell of apple pie hung in the air. His ingredients were in all the same places they’d been for years; fat sack of flour on the bottom of the pantry and delicate carton of eggs on the top left in the fridge, a dainty bottle of vanilla on the counter beside the spice rack. It barely took any thinking to whip up his batter or to sprinkle in a quarter (fine, half) of a bag of chocolate chips into it. Sam walked in right as the first flapjack touched the griddle. 

 

“Since when are you a morning person?” he laughed. Jerk didn’t even sound out of breath, even though he’d been out running around for a good hour. 

 

“Since when did you get brave enough to make fun of me while I make you breakfast?”

 

The giant sat down and guzzled a glass of water while Dean cooked. It was an easy silence. Outside, the sun rose higher and the remaining tinges of pink and orange were sucked up into the great blue expanses of Kansas skies. A yawning Jess joined them a little while later, glasses on her nose and hair snarled from sleep. She sat on Sam’s lap and didn’t say much. When Dean caught her out of the corner of his eye, she looked so oddly similar to his mother it was astounding. 

 

“So, Dean,” she said eventually. “How long have you and Cas known each other?”

 

He got so caught up in answering her questions, little queries about their history with big answers full of anecdotes and reflections, that he didn’t even notice when his mom came in and started frying up some bacon and some eggs to accompany his pancakes. He just made her a part of his audience.

 

“He’s just so… I don’t have a word for it. He’s like every good thing in the world rolled into one, and somehow I got lucky enough to find him. He’s so sincere and compassionate and honest, you guys. I love him so much. I can’t believe that I get to _marry_ him. _I_ get to marry _Cas_.” He turned around to grab a plate and saw Jess covering her mouth with her hand. Her eyes were happy, but wider than should’ve been possible. Sam looked like he was about to explode from keeping in a laugh. “What?”

 

Without a word, they both pointed to the kitchen doorway. Standing there, cheeks flaming but smiling, was his beautiful, pajama-clad, messy-haired fiancé. Dean lost his speaking capabilities and began a very convincing imitation of a fish opening and closing its mouth. In the time it took him to croak out a “good morning,” Cas crossed the room and kissed him, hard, right in front of his family. Mary and Jess giggled while Sam said something (probably about how they ate in that kitchen, c’mon Dean) but Dean didn’t— couldn’t— pay him any attention.The pancakes started to burn, Dean ignored them. He could always make a few more. 

 

“For the record,” Cas smiled when he pulled away, “I think it’s pretty incredible that I get to marry you, too.” 

 

And with that, he pecked Dean once more and turned away to get a glass of orange juice from the fridge. Dean tossed the burnt pancakes. Everyone started to chat away about the topic of the day— wedding plans. Which, to Dean, seemed odd, considering it was Christmas Eve and there was still plenty to do.It seemed like a wedding— a _one day event_ — involved more planning than moving apartments or getting a new job. 

 

He blamed the mental toil of all that when he collapsed, completely exhausted, onto the couch before the sun had even ducked completely below the horizon. Maybe it was the last traces of the food poisoning. Whatever the reason, he was sore all over— which was ridiculous, because the last time he’d been this achy was after helping to build a school on another continent. 

 

Cas joined him, bearing two mugs of hot chocolate, a little while later. “Tired, love?” he asked. 

 

“Babe, you have no idea. C’mere.” Dean rearranged the pair of them so he could lay on top of his boyfriend— his _fiancé_ — like a sentient pillow. “You’re very comfortable, you know.”

 

“And you’re warm.” Apparently Dean wasn’t the only sleepy one, if the drowsy slur to Cas’ voice meant anything. Dean reached for his mug on the coffee table and took a swig; when he looked back in search of shockingly bright eyes he found closed eyelids.

 

“Hey, wake up,” he teased.

 

“Mm. Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,” Cas yawned, eyes still shut, “And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind _._ ” 

 

Dean sighed and buried his cheek deeper into the knit of Cas’ blue sweater. “How’d I get so lucky?”

 

“I don’t know, but I’m glad you did.”

 

“Ugh, guys, come on,” Jess groaned as she walked into the room. “We already know you’re the cutest couple in history, you don’t have to rub it in.”

 

“Sorry, Jess,” Cas mumbled. Dean poked his cheek. 

 

“We’re doing Christmas Eve stuff soon. You gotta be awake a little longer.”

 

Cas huffed a laugh. “Such an inconvenience,” he said, blinking up at him. 

 

“I know, I’m over here ruining your nap,” Dean agreed.

 

“Whatever will I do?”

 

Dean tilted his head and stroked his chin. “I guess you’ll just have to marry me.”

 

“I think you might be right.”

 

Mary came in the room with a plate of cookies, Sam behind her balancing five glasses of eggnog. The ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future must’ve filled up the room or something because in a flurry of motion, the tree lights started to glow and the sounds of Nat King Cole poured from the speakers. Dean sat up from atop Cas with a kiss then a groan, and accepted the cup Sammy was holding out to him. 

 

The brothers got up and started passing around a few presents— as per tradition, everybody got to open a parcel the night before. Dean and Sam had given their mother a heart shaped locket with pictures of the two of them inside. From Jess, Cas unwrapped a beautiful set of ballpoint pens and a moleskine notebook. Dean got a hardbound book with no markings on the front. As he flipped through it, he realized it was a photo album of his and Cas’ time together so far. 

 

Cas had written a note inside the back cover, which Dean read aloud.

 

_Dean,_

 

_Five years ago, a lonely nerd type approached a good-looking classmate, demanding cooperation on a shared assignment. Little did he know that one essay would gradually become the best part of his life. Dean, I know you don’t believe in God, but I feel so blessed to have found you. You’re my best friend, you’re my family, and you’re so, so important to me. It’s been said before, but I’ll say it again: I don’t know where I’d be without you. I love you so much, and I can’t wait to be your husband._

 

_With love,_

_Castiel_

 

 

Someone sniffled. Dean did, too, as he pulled Cas in close.“I love you.”

 

“I love you too, Dean. Merry Christmas.”

 

“Merry Christmas.”


	10. PART THREE: Chapter 10

Looking back, he should’ve realized much earlier than he did. On the other (shaking) hand, the fact that he _didn’t_ catch what was happening was a part of what he needed to realize.

 

◎❃◎

 

Why was the paper on examination tables so goddamn crinkly? He shifted his weight and the dry crumpling sound bounced off the walls, synthesizing with Cas’ hitched breathing. The doctor stood still and pursed her lips, waiting for somebody to break the silence. 

 

Finally, Dean licked his lips and cleared his throat. “What are my options?”

 

His doctor— one Missouri Moseley, M.D.— huffed out a humorless laugh. “At this point? Burial or cremation, darlin’. There’re a few types of treatments, but they’ve got a low success rate even if you aren’t as sick as you are, and they’re expensive.” Dean looked down and kept his eyes firmly trained on the ground, even as Cas choked back a rattly cry. “I’ll give you two a few minutes. Just shout if you need anything.”

 

Dean sat back and the paper crackled again, like a crappy radio connection. He closed his eyes and sighed. Of all the ways to go out, this one had to be one of the worst. He couldn’t even pronounce the name of it, this thing which had been silently tearing him apart since Nigeria. African Trypanosomiasis— West African Sleeping Sickness. 

 

Cas sniffed, hard, and Dean snapped out of his thoughts. His husband had tears streaming down his face and his knuckles crammed between his teeth, blocking a sob. 

 

“Baby, it’s gonna be okay.” It was a bald-faced lie and he knew it. His own eyes started watering. “We’re gonna be okay, we’ll figure this out.”

 

“Six months at most, Dean. Six months.” Six months as he gradually became a different person, and stopped sleeping, and died. Six months until Cas was left a widower at age 23, until his little brother was an only child, until his mother had to bury her firstborn. Six months to say goodbye. 

 

Abruptly, Cas scrubbed away his tears and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice level but threatening to break, “I’m being ridiculous. You’re the one who’s sick, how are you feeling?”

 

“I don’t want to die, Cas,” Dean murmured, “I don’t want to die yet.” He still had so much to do. He wanted to go back to Nigeria. He wanted to adopt a kid with his husband. He wanted to get the chance to celebrate his one year anniversary. He breathed in shakily and reached for Cas’ hand. 

 

“I know, love,” Cas soothed, squeezing Dean’s hand. 

 

How many times had he missed the signs? How many 24 hour bugs, how many headaches, how many pounds he’d dropped without trying had he ignored? There had been so many opportunities to realize something was wrong. So many chances, and yet here he was. 

 

He didn’t know how long they sat, the only sound between them an occasional sniffle or hiccup, before Dr. Moseley came back in. “I’m sorry, boys,” she said, “There’s nothing more that I can do for you. I’ll see you in a month, you understand?”

 

They mumbled their thanks and Dean slid off the crunching paper, wrinkling and tearing it as he did so. 

 

Cas handled making the next appointment. October 18th, 2018— it appeared on Dean’s phone as if by magic, confounding him until he realized Cas had added it to their shared cloud calendar.

 

They sat in the car and didn’t say anything. Dean didn’t even put the key in the ignition, just his hands on the wheel. His knuckles turned white around it as he stared blankly at the windshield. 

 

_The second ring on his finger was still an unfamiliar weight; he fought the urge to fidget with it while they waited. Cas was holding the paperwork because Dean had been wrinkling it. The PA buzzed to life and yet another number was called. It wasn’t theirs._

 

_“Why are you nervous, love?” Cas asked, placing a hand on his bouncing knee to still it. “You still want this, right?”_

 

_Dean leaned in and kissed his cheek briefly. “Of course I do.” Cas’ shockingly bright eyes bored into his. He couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if they weren’t deemed fit to be dads. What if their application got rejected?_

 

_Cas understood, of course he did. He smiled. “You’re going to be a good father, Dean.”_

 

_They shifted so Cas could lay his head on Dean’s shoulder. They chatted quietly until their number was finally called._

 

_The woman sitting behind the plexiglass looked frazzled and exhausted. They handed her the stack of what must’ve been six dozen nearly identical forms, each and every one signed and dated in blue ink. She asked a few questions and then she sent them on their way promising a letter in the mail within a few weeks._

 

_Well, for better or worse, they had filed to adopt a kid._

 

“Dean?” Cas tried. He sounded tired, and a little afraid. Dean couldn’t let what was happening sink in, not yet. No, he was fine. They’d figure something out, maybe that treatment Dr. Moseley had mentioned. Life would go on as normal.

 

“Let’s— let’s get out of here. Lunch at Rosie’s?”

 

The bell on the door dinged as they shuffled in. As had been the trend in the past two or three years, there weren’t many people in the restaurant, just a handful of them sprinkled around the open room at a few tables, booths, and stools. Kenny from the kitchen nodded at them and called that Rosie would be out in a few. Dean gave him a thumbs up and the pair went to their booth. 

 

Cas was playing with a sugar packet and Dean was staring numbly out the window when Rosie walked up. 

 

“What’s with the long faces, boys?”

 

They looked at one another and Cas nodded a little before speaking. “We just got back from the doctor’s.” He swallowed hard. “And he’s sick.”

 

“Oh, hon,” she said, setting her order pad on the table. She reached for their hands and gave them each a squeeze. “How long do you have? Is it fixable?”

 

“About six months,” Dean said quietly. His gaze stayed fixed on the stain on the table’s edge. 

 

He felt empty inside, hollow from head to toe, as if his diagnosis had already taken him apart and left a burnt husk in his place. What was the point in freaking out? He was going to die either way. He was pretty sure that Rosie was talking, then Cas, but he didn’t move or bother tuning in. Within the motion of the world around him, Dean was completely still. 

 

His burger appeared in front of him some time later and the few bites he managed were ash in his mouth. Cas looked like he was fighting to keep himself together and Dean sighed, heavily, before asking for two boxes. Rosie made them promise to let her know if they needed anything. 

 

Even the Impala’s engine couldn’t drown it out. The silence. It was in his mind, it was between him and Cas, it was his illness. 

 

The burgers sat in the fridge for two weeks before Cas finally threw them away. Dean’s guilt over not eating his was the first thing he really felt in that time.

 

◎❃◎

 

Dean didn’t want to tell his family. The first time Cas suggested it was a few days after the doctor’s appointment, and Dean had shot him down so quickly his head spun. He couldn’t do that. 

 

He always had a reason. _They don’t need to know right now. I don’t want to tell them over the phone. I’ve still got a chance, what about that treatment the doctor talked about?_

 

Finally, it appeared Cas had had enough. Dean got home from work one day to see a nervous Sam and Mary on the couch of their little apartment. Cas’ arms were crossed as he sat on a chair borrowed from the kitchen table, but his shockingly bright eyes were clearly nervous. 

 

Good, he should be nervous. It wasn’t Cas’ right to do this. It was Dean’s problem and it was Dean’s secret to confide. And if he didn’t want to tell his mom and his brother— well, that should’ve been his prerogative. Dean began to seethe and Mary looked nervously between him and Cas. 

 

“Have you told them yet?” Dean asked, each syllable as carefully controlled as he could make it. 

 

Despite this, Cas held firm. “No, I didn’t. I was waiting for you, I thought you’d prefer to be the one to say it.” There was that, at least. But before he could get a word in edgewise, Cas blurted, “They deserve to know.”

 

He looked at his family. Mary. Sam.

 

_The summer sun was hot on his face, perfectly juxtaposed with the cool of the water beneath him. His eyes were closed, but he knew just how blue the sky was above him, how lively and lush the world around him looked today. His arms were stretched comfortably behind his head._

 

_All was right. Everything was peaceful._

 

_Then everything was cold and he was underwater._

 

_His little brother was howling with laugher, tears streaming down his face, when Dean spluttered to the surface. Little jerk was about to pay for that._

 

_He flew up out of the water, dive bombing toward Sam, whose gangly limbs got in his way as he flailed in a half-successful attempt to dodge; the end result was the two of them wrestling but mostly trying not to drown._

 

_They were the only people at the lake today. It wasn’t very big, maybe 70 feet across, in the valley of what was probably the only hill in Lawrence. Earlier a few seniors— well, graduates, now— had been splashing around, but they’d left a half hour or so ago and now it was just the two of them. School was due to start again in a few days, and Dean was prepared to soak up every last second of summer. It was his last one, after all, the precursor to his final year of high school._

 

_They splashed around for another hour before finally heading home. Dean was sent into a tizzy when he couldn’t find his keys before Sammy laughed and dangled them in the air before lobbing them at him. Dean made him sit in the backseat (on a towel, because there wasn’t a chance in hell that Dean was letting lake water ruin his Baby’s upholstery) in retaliation. They stopped for slushies on the way home._

 

_Mom was working on dinner when they tumbled, laughing, through the door. The three of them ate together and played board games in the living room until the sun came up in a pretty display of pink and orange through the window._

 

_All in all, it was a good day._

 

Dean couldn’t damage that. He couldn’t leave behind the gangly teenager from his memory. He couldn’t leave behind his mother. He couldn’t break them like this.

 

“Deserve to know what?” Sam asked, stern as he could manage. At eighteen, he was just starting to fill out his lanky form. To anyone else, he might look menacing— but to Dean, he was just his kid brother. Little Sammy. 

 

The poor kid who was about to lose his older brother in just a few months. Not even a year.

 

Dean ignored him and continued to stare his husband down. “You don’t think I know that?” he snapped, “I don’t want to have to give them this news. I don’t want to have to tell them this, Cas.”

 

“You need to face up to this! This might be news to you, Dean, but this isn’t going to just go away if you ignore it hard enough. What, are you afraid?” Cas rose from his seat. His voice was starting to rise in volume. 

 

“Yeah, Cas, I am!” His voice cracked. Hot, angry tears stung at the corners of his eyes but he refused to let them roll down his face. “I’m terrified!”

 

“Dean,” Mary tried, standing up. “Honey, what’s going on?” Fear danced in her green eyes, the same emerald which always stared back at him from the mirror.

 

And Dean Winchester could handle yelling. He could handle screaming matches and denying that anything was wrong, but he couldn’t handle his mother’s quiet dismay. In five words, without even trying, she broke him. A sob finally broke free of its chains and he stumbled forward. She folded him into her arms and he just cried into her shoulder. 

 

“I’m sorry, Mom, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” She shushed him and petted a hand through his hair until his eyes ran dry. 

 

“Sorry for what?” 

 

He couldn’t say it. Saying it would make it real. She let him pull away and sink down onto the couch, hoping and praying that it would swallow him up and he’d never have to face any of this ever again. 

 

Like a wet blanket, silence hung heavy in the room. Dean fidgeted with his sleeves— they were loose around his arms, now— he’d lost a lot of weight due to this parasite inside him. He shook his head from side to side as he did it. He would not meet anybody’s eyes. 

 

After what may have been one or five minutes, Mary set her hand on his arm. 

 

“Talk to me. What's wrong?” Dean looked up from his lap but not at her. Instead, he caught Cas’ stare. Blue eyes were sad, but understanding as Dean sent him a silent plea. 

 

His husband cleared his throat. “He’s sick. It’s, uh, it’s called Trypanosomiasis. He contracted it while we were in Nigeria; it didn’t manifest until recently.”

 

Mary nodded slowly. When she spoke, she sounded calm, but the tension in her shoulders and her trembling chin belied her fear. “And what does that mean for the future?”

 

Dean’s throat was raw. “It means I have a little under six months,” he choked. 

 

Sam gasped. Mary covered her mouth as tears started to drip down her cheeks; anguish filled the room like a poisonous gas. Dean wished that he could quit swimming in his shirt and just drown completely; anything to escape this terrible, horrible, awful tableau. 

 

It was unexpected, but Cas was the first to speak. With almost clinical precision, he relayed everything Dr. Moseley had told them. What symptoms would likely crop up. How to plan for what came next. He was rambling for a good five minutes to a shell shocked audience before Dean caught his eye again and shook his head. They did not need facts right now. They needed to be a family. (What they really needed was a miracle but, well, that was probably out of the question.)


	11. Chapter 11

Several days passed and Dean went to work. A few hours after he clocked in, a gorgeous ’61 Falcon got parked at his station, blue paint pristine but engine failing. He began to tinker with it, borderline reverent as he checked each part for problems. 

 

When he finally identified what was going on, he gave a little “aha!” and turned to get a wrench off his workbench. He set about removing the faulty part when his hand shook so bad he dropped his tool down into the engine bay. 

 

He should’ve expected this. He’d been warned about shaking hands by his doctor and now here he was. He should’ve anticipated his diagnosis getting in his way at work, even in this— nearly the end of the first of his final six months— but that didn’t stop him from cursing as loud as he could then slamming his greasy hands against the front lip of the hood. Mike gave him a strange look through the glass of his office door which Dean determinedly ignored. 

 

He couldn’t even fix an engine because of this stupid ‘sleeping sickness.’ He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs. Instead, like the responsible grown adult he was, he took a deep breath and counted to ten. He slipped off his gloves and dropped them beside his tools, grabbed his phone off the workbench and dialed Cas. Then he thought better of it and hung up before it could ring through. No sense in bothering him at work, right?

 

No sense in interrupting his husband with his nonsense problems. He pulled a telescoping magnet out of the drawer and tried to turn back to the car when his muscles decided to stage a revolt— he couldn’t make his legs lift off the ground, couldn’t force his arms from where they hung by his sides. His heart began to pound as the seconds dragged on, him— stuck. 

 

He was just about to call out for help when, at last, he was able to twitch a finger. The rushing in his ears slowed with every muscle that unfroze, but he still nearly tumbled to the ground, one foot tripping over another when he tried to take one more step. At least his statue impression had been cut short. 

 

“Dean, you okay?” his boss called from the office. Dean hadn’t yet confided his diagnosis, and didn’t plan on doing so today. 

 

“Yeah,” he shouted in response, “I— yeah, I’m fine.” Judging from the raised eyebrow and lingering stare he received, Mike didn’t believe him. Whatever. It wasn’t all that important, anyway. After a moment, he added, “Oh, I do have a doctor’s appointment at three, so I’m gonna have to head out early today.”

 

And so he got back to work. His rattling hands didn’t cause him too many more problems, and by the time he had to leave a few hours later, the car was in perfect working order once again. 

 

At the doctor’s office, Dean decided he had mixed feelings when it came to Dr. Moseley. On the one hand, she was a hell of a person. She was gutsy and didn’t care what people thought, but she was motherly at the same time. On the other hand, she was quickly becoming associated with bad news in his mind. 

 

Today he was told that he’d probably lose the vast majority of his muscle capabilities within the next four months, faster if he was already having issues. She reminded him of the list of symptoms which might start cropping up any time now. But the two of them talked, for a little while, about things that weren’t his illness. It helped to settle his agitated nerves and for that he was grateful. She asked about Cas, and Nigeria, and the throwback left him with a dopey smile on his face. 

 

_The horizon was the color of the business end of a matchstick. An orange-peel sun made her way past the shadowed edge of the world some miles in the distance, raspberry light filtering through wispy clouds, floating like feathers on the cockcrow sky._

 

_The air smelled like dry brush and tasted like the dirt crusted underneath his fingernails. He was sweaty. He was content._

 

_His love was still and silent next to him on the thin mattress, hair tousled and lips parted in his slumber. Dean was, again, struck by his angel’s magnificence; eyes like bluebells were covered by shuttered, long eyelashes delicate as the fragile wings of a butterfly. In the quiet of the morning, only the chitters of the morning birds to harmonize with the sound of his breathing, he allowed himself a moment to bask in Castiel._

 

_Breathe in, breathe out. Threading fingertips through hair like onyx. In, out._ I’m the luckiest guy alive _._

 

_It was several more minutes before Cas stirred. A rustle of the blankets as he rolled to face him fully, a sleepy sigh. Dean slid his hand down to cup that stubbly jaw, thumb smoothing over angular cheekbone as topaz gaze fluttered into visibility._

 

_Dean didn’t believe in God, but the sight itself was almost enough to convert him. How else could a pair of eyes be_ that _blue?_

 

_Cas stretched, arching his back like a cat, and sighed again. “Good morning, my love.”_

 

_It made him blush every time. Dean buried his flaming face into the softness of Cas’ t-shirt and smiled against his chest. “Mornin’, babe.”_

 

_“Sleep well?”_

 

_“Mhmm.”_

 

_The answer seemed to suit him. They didn’t speak for a while. This was the magic of being so connected for so much time— their shared, comfortable quiet. Daybreak completed her journey up the sky just as the bell rang outside in the common area. Their day was about to begin; it would be hectic and they would end up feeling their exhaustion in their hair follicles by the end of it, but they were ready for it after this morsel of peace._

 

Dr. Moseley offered her hand in a goodbye shake when it was time for him to go. He reached for it and grabbed her wrist instead. The look in her eyes said a lot of things— but primarily, _good luck._

 

Cas was already home and sitting on the sofa when Dean unlocked the door. His poetry notebook was on his lap for the first time in… well, it must’ve been years, now. Almost as soon as he’d hung his keys on the hook, the journal was flipped shut and hidden behind a pillow. 

 

“Hey,” Cas said quickly, standing to greet him. Guy looked like a deer in the headlights. 

 

“Hi.”

 

They kissed briefly and Dean gravitated to the kitchen while Cas resumed his place in the corner of the sofa. Restless and fidgeting with the edge of a throw pillow, he asked, “So how was work, how was your doctor’s appointment?”

 

“Mm. Fine.” Dean rooted through the fridge and pulled out some leftover pasta. He dumped it in a bowl and shoved it in the microwave before speaking again, “I’m already starting to lose coordination, though, which is— well, it’s lovely. Really.” Cas sighed heavily and heaved himself up.

 

Dean was staring down the microwave, as if daring it to take any longer than was strictly necessary when strong arms wrapped around his waist from behind. Dean grudgingly let himself relax in them and Cas hooked his chin over his shoulder. 

 

“It’ll all be okay, love. If we— well, I’m not sure. But I’m sure there’s something we can do to make this better.”

 

But that was the thing. It _wouldn’t_ be okay. He wasn’t going to magically wake up cured tomorrow morning, or next week, or next month. He was just going to fall apart, mind and body. If worst came to worst, he wasn’t even going to get a damn next year. 

 

He huffed. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

 

Cas frowned at him. “I’m sorry.”

 

“No, don’t apologize, you didn’t do anything. I’m just— I hate this.” Cas nodded against him but didn’t say anything. “There’s nothing I can do. This disease is going to take me whether I like it or not.”

 

Cas hummed and started to draw little circles with his thumb against Dean’s hipbone. Slowly, he allowed the tension to leak out of him, shoulders finally slumping down, brow un-furrowing. 

 

Dean’s voice quavered as he continued, “Cas, I’m terrified.” And oh, would you look at that, he’s crying again. 

 

“Shh, sweetheart, it’s okay. You’re okay for now.”

 

They stood there for awhile, Dean’s pasta abandoned in the microwave when they decided to make it an early night. 

 

“Hey,” he started after they were safely under the blankets, “earlier. You’re writing again?”

 

In front of him, Cas went very, very still. “No,” he said, but he drew out the word. He was facing away from Dean, back pressed to his chest, but Dean would put money on his eyes being the size of dinner plates. Cas wasn’t telling the truth. 

 

“Cas—”

 

“I’m not. Drop it.”

 

“I saw your journal out! Why are you lying to me?” Dean asked in a harsh whisper. 

 

“Because you wouldn’t understand,” Cas mumbled back. He sounded… heavy. 

 

It made Dean stop short, but it didn’t erase his irritation. He sighed (he seemed to be doing so much more of that since his diagnosis). Feelings-wise, he was utterly exhausted for the day. Flatly, “Wouldn’t understand what?”

 

Cas didn’t say a word. Judging from the one sound he made, he was grinding his teeth together instead. 

 

“Cas, hey.” Dean tugged on his shoulder so his husband would roll and face him. He let his hand slip down so it rested on Cas’ hip, the same way he’d been doing for years. Tonight, though, Cas hissed and flinched away as soon as his palm touched down against the jutted outline of his hipbone. “Cas?”

 

He shook his head. “I can’t.”

 

“Babe, what’s wrong with you? What happened?”

 

“It’s nothing, it’s nothing. I’m fine.”

 

“You’re not. Look at me.” He didn’t move. “Look at me. What’s wrong? What’s going on with you, honeybee?”

 

“You’ll be upset.”

 

He wracked his brain for something— anything— that could explain why Cas was acting like this. Had he broken the law? Did someone do something to him? Had somebody— no, that sort of thing didn’t happen to guys. At least not to Cas.

 

The tension between them could’ve been cut through with a knife. His husband— his honeybee, his angel, the love of his life— practically _trembled_ in his hold. Dean tried squeezing the hand which still rested against Cas’ hip and the man bodily recoiled. 

 

It reminded Dean of a morning, a Sunday with a pounding hangover and an unlocked dormitory. Cas, naked as the day he was born, bundled under a blanket on the floor beside their bed. A note on the desk.

 

_Scary scars, man_. 

 

There were tears. Dean still hadn’t seen the marks until after they were married. 

 

Cas had promised to talk to him. 

 

Suddenly, Dean found himself very, very afraid. But there wasn’t time or space for that right now, so he gathered up all his fear and crammed it into a box in the shadowy, cobwebbed back of his mind. He kept his voice soft when he said, “Cas Winchester.” He moved the hand which had fallen from Cas’ side up to his angular cheekbone. “We’ve been together for over five years. It’s been four months since we got married. And when we stood up there in front of that officiate, I promised to stand by you, for better or worse. Babe, I can’t think of a single thing you could do that would convince me to break that promise. You understand?”

 

Cas nodded fervently, some tears starting in his own eyes for the first time that night. “Don’t make me say the words. You’re a smart man. Tell me you’ve figured it out.”

 

Dean’s stomach twisted. It wasn’t a complete confirmation, but he was pretty sure they were talking about the same thing. There weren’t words to express how much he’d wished he had been wrong, but he hadn’t been. Cas was hurting himself again, just like high school, and now it was time to deal with the fallout.

 

“How bad is it?” Dean asked. Cas shook his head. “Baby, I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me. How bad?”

 

“I’ll just show you.” He slipped out from under the covers and Dean followed him. 

 

The bathroom light was painfully bright when Cas clicked it on before sinking onto the closed toilet lid and wringing his hands together. Dean didn’t say anything after leaning against the sink. 

 

It was a whole two minutes before Cas took control of his shaking hands— Dean counted. He pulled the bottom edge of his boxers up to reveal a muscled thigh covered in stacks of lines, most of them scabbed over or peeling, some a lifeless white and others fresh and raw. 

 

When Dean lost control of his jaw muscles, it wasn’t due to his illness. He raised a hand in an aborted gesture— to see if it was real, or comfort, or perhaps both. How long had this been happening— just how long had Dean been so self-absorbed he’d failed to notice this?

 

“Oh, baby, what happened?”

 

Cas hung his head in shame. “I just…” He trailed off and tried to gather his thoughts, cornflower eyes going the color of midnight before he tried again, “You have so little time left. I hate this, I hate it so much. You’re going to die in a few months and I’m going to be all alone again and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I’m so— I feel _powerless_ , Dean, so… so useless, so out of control. And, I don’t know, I suppose I thought that if I could control— well, this, control how many or how deep or how long I made these marks, if I could do something that I was in charge of, then maybe I’d be able to change something?”

 

So… in other words, Dean was the one who caused this. Cas hurting himself— that was all his fault.

 

“Hold on, hold on. Back up a sec. You’re the furthest thing from useless, you hear me?” He waited for confirmation before continuing. “And there’s nothing that anyone can do at this point. You’re no more powerless than anybody else, babe. Don’t you beat yourself up over that.”

 

The words tasted rancid in his mouth. How numb and dull must those words have sounded, filtering through his husband’s mind? How overused and stale?

 

Stillness pervaded the cramped bathroom. The apartment complex sang its normal song of creaks and rattles, in a disjointed sort of harmony with the hum of the vanity lights and the rhythm of their breaths. The ground received both of their intent attentions as each waited for the other to make the next move. 

 

“Cas, c’mere.” Dean opened his arms for the warm weight of his love to slump into. “Instead of looking at what you can do, you’re looking at what you can’t. Do you know why it kills me so much to know you’re doing this to yourself?” His husband shook his head. “Because when I look at you, I see a man with the biggest heart in the world. I see a genius and an incredible writer. I see a wonderful husband, I see a good friend, I see somebody who is a son to my mother, and a brother to Sammy. I see a man who deserves nothing but good things in this world, and you aren’t seeing the same thing.”

 

They stayed there long past the point the tile warmed beneath their feet. Dean had someone to protect, for that moment. It helped that existential panic always niggling at the back of his mind to ebb away a little bit. 

 

“I was writing,” Cas ventured, “about, well, all this. Earlier.” Dean hummed in response. “It used to help a lot.”

 

“Did it help now?”

 

He sighed. “I think so, sort of. The circumstances are different.” He turned to rest his head against the crest of Dean’s shoulder. “Talking with you helps.”

 

“Well then you talk with me as much as you like, babe.”

 

That made Cas snort a little before they started to extricate themselves from one another. “You ready to go back to bed?”

 

“Yeah. Oh, but Cas?” He said, stopping short in the doorway.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“I really need you to promise me that this isn’t going to keep happening.” Cas’ eyes were wide and uncertain. “Listen, I get that this is— whatever, a coping mechanism for you, right? But you can’t keep doing this to yourself, honeybee.” 

 

“Alright.”

 

Dean nodded, but he wasn’t satisfied yet. “What do you use? A shaving razor or something?”

 

“I have a pocket knife.”

 

“Alright,” he said, “give that to me, then.”

 

Cas muttered, “I could just find something else, you know.” Dean couldn’t tell if that was meant to be a threat or just a distraction from his request— but judging from the flash of regret in shockingly bright eyes, it was the start of some half-baked plan that he hadn’t meant to let slip. 

 

Dean leveled his husband with a look. “But you’re not going to.”

 

And Cas looked like he was so close to rolling his eyes that they nearly fell out of his head. “No, I won’t.” He stalked back to the counter and ripped open the drawer where they kept extra soap and toothpaste. Hidden in the very back was, as he’d said, a black-handled folding blade about three inches long. Cas thrust it into Dean’s waiting hand with a petulant huff. “Don’t you trust me?”

 

“I’d trust you with my life, babe,” he retorted and left it at that. Cas dragged his feet when they walked out of the bathroom together, pouting on the way to their bed and sulking once under the covers. Dean tossed the little knife into his nightstand drawer and cuddled up to his husband. “I love you a lot, you know?”

 

“Yes, Dean,” Cas mumbled. “I know.”

 

“And you know that I’m doing this because I’m on your side, right?”

 

Cas made a petulant little grunt before saying, “I know.”

 

He nodded. “Okay then.”

 

Cas breathing evened out after a little while, but Dean couldn’t settle his mind. 

 

To be completely honest, he was angry. Furious, even. Not at Cas— rarely had he ever even been truly _upset_ with Cas, much less furious, and especially not over what happened tonight. No, he was angry about their circumstances. His diagnosis, his impending doom, the strain on their relationship because of it all. He’d taken to calling the situation ‘It’ in his head. It _is hurting Cas,_ It _is getting in the way at work,_ It _is going to kill me in five months or less._

 

Why did this have to happen to him— to them? He couldn’t help but wonder why he was the only volunteer from the group who had gotten sick. That boy— Obi— hadn’t he had his mother check Dean for tsetse fly bites? Hadn’t she said he was in the clear, lucky that he’d escaped unscathed?

 

He and Cas had wanted to go back to Nigeria. 

 

They had wanted more Christmases and birthdays. More anniversaries. On late Saturday nights, a little buzzed on cheap beer and each other, they had opened the windows and lain in bed and talked about taking a road trip— that would probably never happen, now. 

 

Another thought hit him. They had filed for adoption, for hell’s sake— would Cas still be eligible after he was gone, or would he have to re-file? Surely their joint application would be declined soon with Dean’s new medical condition. Oh, he hoped Cas would still be able to adopt a kid. He wanted to be a parent, he wanted it so badly. Dean could see it, too— somebody as big-hearted and smart and happy as his husband would make an incredible father. Dean wanted that chance, too. Yet another thing It was taking from him. 

 

He flipped his pillow over and smacked it a few times for good measure. Covers off, covers back on again. He just wanted to go to sleep, to drift off and wake up in the morning with better muscle control and a happy husband and maybe some magical solution to all his other problems. But Dean Winchester never got what he wanted. 

 

He couldn’t figure out what he had done to deserve this. Surely he was being punished for whatever that was, now. If he could go back and change things, change anything, to fix this, to undo It, what would he have to do? He was never a prayerful man, never believed in God or angels or the like— not after growing up John Winchester’s son, not after hearing friends and neighbors talk about how people like him would end up in hell— but there, in a bedroom with stuffy air and the only the sound of his husband’s quiet snores, he decided to give it a shot. 

 

His hands had begun to shake again, though lacing together his fingers and clutching them close to his chest helped. He began whispering fervently, every possible variety of the question ‘Why me?’, every deal he thought he could make to get himself out of all this. 

 

It was only when his throat was parched as desert sand and his lips felt close to cracking that he finally shut up. What was the point, anyway? Nothing was going to get him out of this. No higher power was going to snap its fingers and revert him to full health, un-scar Cas’ hips and thighs, give back all the tears his mother and his brother and his friends had cried when they’d told them. 

 

He yawned and lowered his heavy eyelids again. He was bone-tired and ready to finally fall asleep, but his body was having none of it. _Symptoms of central nervous system involvement include confusion, personality changes, sensory disturbances, sleep issues._

 

The alarm clock, sitting pretty on the nightstand across the bed from him, had a number that started with a one and ended with something in the thirties (Cas’ head was in the way of that last number). Dean punched his pillow again, and rolled over, and tried counting sheep. Alas. 

 

He must’ve fallen asleep at some point, because his alarm went off and he had to open his eyes to find the snooze. He stumbled out of bed and towards the door in the dark, crashing into the wall a few steps in. 

 

The resulting curse was probably too loud. If Mom was awake, then she definitely heard that. He prepared himself for a lecture on appropriate language over breakfast. 

 

From the bed he’d just abandoned, there was a stir. Cas poked his head up from his pillow, hair sticking every which way. 

 

“Dean?”

 

Had Cas slept over last night? Dean wracked his brain, trying to remember a study date or something. Come to think of it, what day was it?

 

“Babe, what are you doing here?”

 

Cas looked at him like he’d grown a second head. When he spoke, there was a sleepy slur to his voice, “I live here, sweetheart. Are you alright?” Dean took a second to look around the room. The dresser was in the wrong corner and the window the wrong wall. The door was painted a different color. The bed was a queen rather than a twin. What was happening? “Dean?”

 

“What’s going on? What’s today? Where am I?”

 

“Honey, you’re in our bedroom. In our apartment. It’s the middle of October, 2018.” His every word was laced through with worry, “Dean, you’re scaring me.”

 

2018\. He was— right. Okay. Right, it was 2018. He had gone to and subsequently graduated college. He’d married Cas. He was sick and getting sicker. _Symptoms of central nervous system involvement include confusion, personality changes, sensory disturbances, sleep issues._

 

“Sorry, I’m sorry. It took me a minute.” Was there a way to explain this without worrying his boyfr— husband, Cas was his husband now— was there a way to explain this without worrying his husband? He finally settled on ‘no’ and shook his head, as if doing that would clear the incident away. “What do you want for breakfast?”

 

He ended up telling his boss about It that day. He couldn’t very well pretend anymore that It wasn’t going to affect his work. Mike was great about it, really, but they decided to cut Dean’s hours down pretty significantly and to only have him work when somebody else was in the garage to make sure he didn’t accidentally hurt himself. Which kind of sucked. But hey, what are you gonna do?

 

Victor (from his high school, who would’ve guessed?) was at work too, that day. Dean and Mike gave him a brief outline of what was going on and what the guy needed to look out for. 

 

“So, y’know, if I start sniffing the wiper fluid, please yell at me,” he concluded with a humorless chuckle. 

 

“Will do, man. I’m sorry.”

 

Dean sighed. “Not your fault,” he said, shaking his head. And that was that.


	12. Chapter 12

_No, these were not cold feet. Dean wasn’t nervous, he was… anticipatory. That was all._

 

_Benny was already waiting up front with Cas. Dean had both a maid of honor and a best man, because hell if his brother wouldn’t stand up with him and there was no denying Charlie’s puppy dog eyes. When he realized that they were both smirking at him he finally stopped his pacing and huffed at them. “Alright. Let’s do this.”_

 

_Cues were given. Music was started. Whoever decided that the wedding march needed to be played on an organ deserved to be smacked upside the head— but that wasn’t what was important. He smoothed his hands down his tux one more time and his mother adjusted his boutonniere (they’d decided on little sunflowers, just like prom). She smiled at him._

 

_“You know, I was just as nervous when it was me about to go up that aisle.” Dean’s breath hitched— clearly, she’d had reason to. Not that Cas would ever… but still. “I’m sure you two will have much better luck than I did. What you have is something special, certainly much stronger than what John and I had.”_

 

_That coaxed a smile out of him. “Thanks, Mom.”_

 

_She linked his arm through his and they stepped past the threshold together. Down the mile-long aisle, Cas waited for him. His hair was messy like he’d been running his hands through it and the way his hands were clasped together looked downright painful. The nerves seemed to melt away from him as soon as his eyes locked with Dean’s— the feeling was echoed on his end as well._

 

_In the midst of making heart eyes at his husband (it was only three minutes away, anyway), he forgot that he was still walking up the aisle. One moment he had just entered the room and the next, his mother was patting his arm, kissing his cheek, and_ oh, yeah _, there was his Castiel._

 

_“Hey, pretty boy,” he murmured, “lookin’ sharp.”_

 

_“You don’t look too bad yourself, love,” Cas smirked back. Thankfully, the ceremony itself wasn’t dragged out and stuffed with religious nonsense, despite the fact they were having it in a church. The church Cas had grown up in, actually— he’d promised Dean that there wouldn’t be any issue. The stained glass windows were just as pretty as they’d been that Sunday morning he’d spent in borrowed clothes, barely awake but for his then-teenaged boyfriend’s singing on this very stage. How far they’d come since then._

 

_In fact, he hardly noticed that it was time for vows and rings until Cas squeezed his hand and started to speak._

 

_“There has always been a part of me that has loved love. William Shakespeare, Jane Austen, all the great poets— I devoured them in the hopes of getting to feel just a smidgen of what their characters felt. When I was young, I never could’ve imagined finding somebody like you, Dean. I cannot say that you complete me, because I’ve always been a whole person on my own, but you make me so much better. There’s a quote I’ve always loved from Wuthering Heights, actually, that says it better than I could. ‘Whatever our souls are made up, his and mine are the same.’ It’s been nearly five years since we first went for burgers at Rosie’s and you have been my light ever since then. I cannot say you complete me but you and I, our souls, are inextricable. My heart will never cease to seek out yours the way sunflowers never cease to seek out sunlight. Dean Winchester, you are my sunflower love, and I cannot wait for us to continue to grow.”_

 

_There were tears rolling down his face but his eyes didn’t burn. He let out a choked little laugh while Cas slid the thin silvery band onto his finger. “I should’ve gone first. How the hell do I top that?” Cas grinned and rolled his eyes as Dean wiped his own. He could give a minute-long speech about how much he loved his angel._

 

_He took a stilling breath. “Cas, you’re the reason I believe in true love and love at first sight and all the rest of the mushy stuff.” There was a rather large collective snort from their small gathering. “And I probably killed an entire tree with the paper I used to write and rewrite these vows. Because I wanted them to be perfect for you. That’s the thing, Cas. I can’t promise you that I’m going to be perfect, but I can promise you that I’m going to try to be as close as I can be, because you’ve agreed to tie the knot with me and the least I can do is try to be everything I can be for you. So… if you need me close or if you need space, I’m down for that. And if what you need is a best friend, that’s awesome too. You’re my best friend, you’re my soulmate, you’re everything I never dared to dream of before I believed in love like you. I know we don’t get eternity, but hell if I’m not gonna try for it with you, so long as you’ll have me.”_

 

_The poor pastor didn’t even get a chance to finish things off before Cas was dive-bombing into Dean’s arms. He missed his lips completely, burying his face in his shoulder instead and probably moistening the shoulder of this fancy suit with tears, if the shaking of his shoulders were anything to go by. And so Dean’s first kiss as a married man was pressed against his new husband’s temple with a smile. Everyone clapped anyway._

 

_Later on, they got the ring on Dean’s finger and did the whole kissing each other on the mouth part. Then there was dancing (one guess as to the song choice for their first waltz) and celebratory wedding pie and more tears during the speeches, and somebody was in big trouble for tying tin cans to the back of his car and defacing the back windshield with the words ‘just married,’ but it could wait until tomorrow. Because he was married, he had a husband who was nothing short of wonderful and there wasn’t a part of tonight that wasn’t absolutely, completely, 100% fantastic._

 

_And if Cas insisted on carrying Dean through the doorway of their apartment when they finally got home? Well, there was no way for him to complain._

 

◎❃◎

 

His hand shook and stumbled while it traced the flower on Cas’ arm. It was Saturday and they’d just gotten home from another doctor’s appointment. Dean was completely exhausted but couldn’t settle his mind enough to take a nap. Cas’ fingers carded through his hair and it felt nice, if somehow detached from what was real. 

 

“Would you do it over again?”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“If you could go back and do everything over again. Knowing what happens. Would you still do everything with me all over again?”

 

“That’s not even a question for me, darling.” The hand in his hair slipped down so it was tracing along his cheek. “I'd rather die tomorrow than live a hundred years without knowing you.”

 

“Please don’t die on me, babe,” he said quickly, a yawn interrupting him. Cas sighed and the heaviness in the room went from uncomfortable to stifling. Because Cas couldn’t ask the same of him. Dean let the corner of his mouth quirk up, though, “Did you really just quote a Disney movie?”

 

“You hush.” They shared a chuckle.

 

The doctor’s news for them had been anything but good. Based on the progression of Dean’s symptoms, he had even less time than anybody had anticipated. She’d leveled them with an even look and the words she had said wouldn’t be leaving him anytime soon: “Listen, boys, there is nothing more that anybody can do. There hasn’t been since the first time you came in here, do you understand? Honey, you’re going to die. You might have two more months if you’re lucky, so the two of you need to wake up and face the music. Get your family in town, start talking about hospitalization, okay? I know this isn’t easy, it’s never been easy for anybody in this type of situation and it’s never going to be easy. But it’s happening. So you need to quit wasting your last months fighting a brick wall and enjoy what time you have left.”

 

Cas had cried as she said the words. Cas had cried in the car. Sam yelled a lot and Mary cried over the phone when Dean called to tell her. Dean didn’t cry at all, and he wasn’t sure if that meant he was coping with this well. 

 

Instead, he grappled with bone crushing panic. Two months where he’d thought he had four or five. There was simply no time left. No more second chances, no more ‘maybe some magic solution will show up tomorrow.’ 

 

He wasn’t sure if it was a comfort that he’d barely know what was going on anymore by the time he finally kicked it. The confusion had been getting worse since October. Three weeks ago, he’d been late for work after waiting twenty minutes for his toast to pop out of the toaster he hadn’t plugged in. Last Thursday he’d gotten on the highway to Topeka and was halfway there before Cas called to ask if he was okay and still coming home tonight. He’d hurt Benny’s feelings last weekend by forgetting who he was. Dean still felt awful about that, even if the man-bear had forgiven him and said those four words Dean had come to hate since September: “It’s just the disease.”

 

Cas’ voice brought him back to the present. “What about you? Would you do it over again?”

 

That took him a moment to answer. It was selfish to say yes. If he had known, five years ago, that loving Cas would mean bringing him so much suffering, would he be a good enough person to protect his angel from that?

 

“Knowing everything I know now?”

 

“Mhmm.”

 

Dean puffed out a large exhale. “God, Cas. No. I have to say no.” With his head pillowed on Cas’ chest, he couldn’t see the flash of hurt that was undoubtedly in those shockingly bright eyes, but he could feel the hitch of his breath. “If I knew what I was going to put you through, I have to believe that I wouldn’t be selfish enough to do that to you. To do _this_ to you.”

 

Cas’ voice was somber when he countered, “Dean, I love you, but you’re a moron. Do you really think that I’d prefer never having known you to losing you?”

 

“Wouldn’t that be better?” he asked, turning his head so he could see at least a little bit of Cas’ face.

 

Cas shook his head. “Never.”

 

“That makes no sense to me.” Even though it did. If their situations were reversed, if it were Cas who needed help buttoning his shirts because his hands wouldn’t cooperate enough to do it alone, Dean wouldn’t want to give him up either. 

 

“To be wise and love, Exceeds man’s might. Troilus and Cressida.” 

 

“I think Shakespeare is our couple’s therapist,” Dean remarked thoughtfully, and Cas snorted. A lot of of the heaviness in the air dissipated, for which he was grateful.

 

“C’mon, let’s get lunch.” And there went the easiness again. 

 

Eating, one of the simplest pleasures he’d ever known, had become more and more difficult over the past several weeks. First it had been the hands, shaking at first and uncooperative later. Managing a fork was borderline herculean. After that it started getting harder and harder to swallow. 

 

He’d put up a good fight before Cas decided he’d had enough. More pounds were dropping; you could count Dean’s ribs, and so over the past week and a half his husband had taken over feeding him. The food was baby mush, basically. And Cas did his best not to make it a thing, but Dean still felt guilty. They were young, they should have been going out for drinks and lunch dates but instead they were stuck at home; the two of them, some sort of vegetable puree, and It. Cas shouldn’t have to be spoon feeding his husband. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Dean mumbled. Cas rolled his eyes at him. 

 

“For better or for worse, in sickness and in health,” he reminded before putting the lid on the blender and turned it on, effectively cutting off any response Dean might have. 

 

When the whine of the appliance died down, he muttered, “Still.”

 

Dean knew that Cas hated it when he apologized for It. But he felt the need to anyway. Even though it was Dean who was sick, you could see the effect it was having on his partner. Bags under his eyes, slumpy shoulders, constantly mussed hair— actually, that part may have just been Cas, but his point stood. Cas was falling apart, too, and he wouldn’t be if it weren’t for Dean and It. And besides, apologies were better than fighting him every step of the way.

 

Cas didn’t say anything for a moment. He poured the yellow-orange sludge into a bowl, grabbed a spoon, and came over to the table before he finally spoke.

 

“Let me take care of you, sweetheart,” he said, cupping Dean’s cheek. His throat got a little tight as he nodded. That seemed to satisfy Cas, who picked up his tools and scooped up a bite of— “Carrots, chickpeas, and yellow squash. Is that okay?”

 

Oh, how he wished it were a cheeseburger. “’s fine.”

 

The food went down easily enough. They got through about half the bowl before Dean asked where Cas’ meal was. 

 

“I’ll eat after, it’s fine.”

 

“Cas?”

 

“It’s fine,” he said, harsher this time. Dean squinted his eyes and said nothing, accepting another spoonful of veggie mush. Abruptly, Cas changed the subject. “Dr. Moseley said we should think about hospitalization.”

 

“She did.”

 

“And what are your thoughts on that?”

 

He didn’t want to. This was the final step and he knew that if he let himself be admitted into Lawrence Memorial, he wasn’t coming out. He would die there. 

 

He was going to die anyway, what was the point?

 

But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t leave this apartment, the place he’d made home with Cas. There was no way he was going to live out his final weeks in a cold room surrounded by strange nurses at all hours of the day. If he had a say in it, he’d take the keys to the Impala and spend these last few months just driving. But seeing as he couldn’t make his legs and feet move half the time and his hands had given up listening altogether, there was no chance in hell of that happening. 

 

He might as well make this easier on Cas. He could see how the guy was running himself ragged, trying to be both caretaker and breadwinner. Perhaps taking away that burden would be for the best? He might get a little more time with the benefit of 24/7 medical supervision and Cas wouldn’t have so much on his plate. It was for the best. He hated it, but it was for the best. 

 

He didn’t know how to articulate all of that. 

 

“Whatever,” was what he went with. 

 

“That would— that would be okay?”

 

“Sure,” he mumbled, refusing to make eye contact. He parted his lips for the last little bit of carrot goop then slumped back into his seat. 

 

Cas nodded. Everything about him seemed weighed down. “I’ll call Dr. Moseley.”

 

“Alright,” Dean yawned. 

 

“You should try and get some rest.”

 

“Help me up?” Cas was his crutch on the way to the bedroom, legs uncooperative. With a grunt, his husband half-dropped, half-pushed him onto the mattress before pulling up the covers. “I’m sorry, Cas.”

 

He just sighed.

 

◎❃◎

 

When Sam and Mary found out what was happening next, they drove down to stay with them. Mom took the guest room and his brother took the couch and the two of them did their best to help out. There wasn’t much for them to do, really. Cas worked and Dean stayed in his room most of the time, so mostly Sam did his homework and Mary knit blankets and meal prepped more fruit and vegetable goo. It was about two weeks before they got the go-ahead from the doc to get him set up at Lawrence Memorial.

 

“And why are we here again?” Dean asked as Cas guided him inside. 

 

Sam gave him a funny look, like he should know what was going on. Mary cuffed him upside the head and Dean couldn’t help but huff a laugh. Cas rubbed his hand up and down where it was supporting Dean’s arm before answering. 

 

“We talked with your doctor and she thought it was best we hospitalize you so a medical team could keep track of how your illness is progressing.”

 

“So like… full time?”

 

“That’s the idea, yes.”

 

“But I’d rather stay with you.” Why couldn’t he get sick and die in the comfort of home?

 

Cas’ eyes got that look in them again, though. It was the irreparably sad one that always showed up when Dean couldn’t remember where he was or why something was happening, or when Cas woke up and found him yawning at the ceiling, sleepless, or when Dean apologized for some symptom or another. Dean usually tried not to say anything for fear of making it worse.

 

A team of nurses got him settled in and hooked up. He felt like a tangled ball of yarn by the time all of the necessary tubes were connected to the necessary monitors; he knew it was only going to get worse as time went on and he lost more functions. 

 

The room had ugly tan walls and a plastic bed. The mattress was not dissimilar to the one he had slept on in Africa, though the hum of the fluorescent lights and the activity buzzing outside the door kept him firmly rooted in the present. There were three chairs, one by the bed and the other two against the wall by the door.

 

“You okay?” Sam asked, a little awkwardly. 

 

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Yeah. It’s just a lot. I think I need some space.”

 

Cas looked to his mom and brother. “If you two want to head home, we’ll be fine.” But Dean needed to be alone.

 

“You too, Cas,” he mumbled. 

 

Hurt flashed across his husband’s face before he schooled it back into neutrality. “Of course.”

 

The little party shuffled away and Dean was left alone, only It, his thoughts, and a weird painting to keep him company. 

 

It was a depressing few hours, thoughts of his impending doom looming heavy like humidity in the drab little room. Loneliness, too, but he needed that. He loved his family, but he couldn’t handle their stifling concern or the sadness in their eyes. He hated doing this to them.

 

A nurse came in around hour three. She checked the chart quietly and was almost out of the room when Dean piped up.

 

“Hey, what’s a guy gotta do to get some sort of knockout drug around here?”

 

“Are you in pain?”

 

No, but he was tired as hell and knew he wouldn’t fall asleep anytime soon on his own. He told her as much. She said she’d see what she could do before disappearing.

 

She seemed friendly, he supposed. Quite unlike the doctor who walked in about 10 minutes after her. The man was rail-thin and sickly looking, white coat turning him even paler than he would’ve been otherwise. His bedside manner could use some work, Dean thought, but he was collected and efficient as he administered— well, he wasn’t sure what drug it was exactly, but it worked in weighing down his eyelids and washing out the world around him. He was pretty sure he slurred some version of a thank you before he floated off, but whether it was understood was anyone’s guess. 

 

When he woke, the lights in his room were off, but the hallway still glowed outside. Screens buzzed, hummed, and chirped by his head. The relevance of his surroundings struck him again and he sighed. It. Hospital. Dying. 

 

He wished Cas were here with him. The loneliness of his room was stark now that night had fallen— but then, it was probably for the best that his husband was at home. Home had pillows that smelled like rain and soft blankets, the familiar background noise of their building complex. Much more comfortable than the thinly padded chair beside this plastic bed. As much as Dean’s heart cried out for his match, he knew it was for the best he was alone right now. 

 

He rolled over. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the lighting conditions he could make out the outline of the blue cotton blanket tangled around his legs— the problem was that he couldn’t feel it. Where his legs should’ve been, where he could _see_ they were, he was numb. He reached a quaking hand down to bump his knee. The knobby feel of it registered beneath his fingertips but there was no sensation in his legs. He had been warned about this happening, but having it actually take place was terrifying. It felt like he was missing limbs.

 

No need to panic. No need to panic, this was just— it was what came next. He was Dean Winchester, he could handle it. 

 

Over the following several days, he still had trouble with his legs. It was a 50/50 shot on whether he’d be able to feel them at any given time, but movement was almost entirely out of the question. Completely bedridden much sooner than anticipated. In that time, he was burdened by a mental tug-of-war, torn between wanting his family nearby and guiltily pushing them away. With the inevitable staring him in the face, most everything fell away but what could only be described as sadness. He was _sad._

 

The toll it took on Mary and Sam and Cas wasn’t lost on him.They’d started taking shifts staying by his bedside after he mentioned once that things got lonely at night. Now Mary knitted next to him all morning and Sam spent the afternoons with him; Cas never really left except for when someone pushed him out the door to get some decent rest, real food, and a shower.

 

If Dean had thought that Cas looked haggard before he got admitted, then the man was downright cadaverous now. Where before his eyes were droopy and bagged, now they looked like someone had carved semicircles beneath them with a knife and watercolored them purple. It made his gut clench to see his husband that way— he didn’t even want to think about what Cas must’ve felt seeing him confined to the bed 24/7. 

 

“Babe, you need to go back home. You’re running yourself into the ground.”

 

“I’m fine,” Cas always mumbled in response. If he wasn’t already holding Dean’s hand, this was usually where he’d take it. “I’ll sleep when—” he paused. “I’ll sleep later.” _I’ll sleep after you’ve died_. At this point in their little dance (it must’ve happened at least a few times a week), Dean always sighed at him and Cas always kissed him someplace or another; forehead, cheek, knuckles, it didn’t matter so long as lips met skin. 

 

And while Dean appreciated what Cas was trying to do, it just made him more ashamed of the pain he was causing. One afternoon, in between his brother and mother’s shifts, he told his husband as much. 

 

“Dean, honey, tell me you haven’t been feeling guilty this whole time.”

 

“Wouldn’t you?”

 

Dean could be healthy right now. Sam could be cramming for midterms in the library rather than beside a host of biological monitors, Cas could be going out on Saturday nights or for Wednesday lunches like before. Could be, if Dean had been a little more careful in bushes infested with bugs carrying lethal diseases. Could be if Dean hadn’t gone and gotten himself chronically ill. 

 

“That’s not the point. You’re sick, and that hurts all of us, but nobody is angry at you. You didn’t try to get sick, right?”

 

“Of course not!”

 

“Then why would anybody get upset with you?”

 

Cas had a point. If he had control over things, Dean would’ve crossed his arms. He could still stick out his bottom lip, though. “Still.”

 

“I know, love.”

 

◎❃◎

 

“ _Oh, jeez, we’ve got to start telling people!” Dean realized aloud, breaking the silence. He was tangled up so tightly with Cas that it was hard to tell where he stopped and his boyfriend—_ fiancé _— began. His face was smushed into messy, messy hair and the smile still hadn’t left his face._

 

_“Can’t we just keep this between us for a little while?” Cas suggested. He peeked up, shockingly bright eyes hopeful. There was no way to say no to that, even if Dean wanted to._

 

_“Whatever you want, angel.” He lifted up his hand to look at the ring again. It felt unnatural, like it was forcing his fingers apart, but he was sure he’d get used to it. He had decades ahead of him, after all._

 

_A forehead kiss turned into Cas nosing along Dean’s jawline. From there, lips met lips and by the time they rolled apart from each other they both needed a moment to catch their breath._

 

_“It’s been years and kissing you still never gets old,” Cas mused. Then he snorted. “I’m glad your proposal went better than Mr. Darcy’s.” Okay, so he’d borrowed a line from one of Cas’ books. It was romantic, though wasn’t it? The confusion on his face must’ve been evident because Cas giggled at him and continued, “That ‘I admire and love you’ line from Pride and Prejudice? That proposal ended up receiving a pretty harsh rejection.” Damn. And he’d really thought he’d nailed it, romance and mushy crap to the nines with a literary reference for flavor._

 

_“Well, then I’m glad it worked this time around.” Cas’ little smile grew back into a grin._

 

_“Me, too, Dean. Me, too.”_

 

It wasn’t until Dean was nearly delirious with sleep deprivation that the first people who had found out about the engagement-- that is to say, Benny and Charlie-- showed up.. They hadn’t seen much of their friends since getting the diagnosis, and that was arguably Dean and Cas’ fault as much as it was Benny and Charlie’s. In the shock of realizing how little time he had left, he’d unwittingly shut himself off from nearly everybody who cared about him.

 

“Hey, brother,” Benny said as he entered the room. His normal boisterous manner was dampened. Subdued. Like someone had taken all his bright colors and turned down the saturation. Charlie followed close behind. Someone— Dean, or It, if you preferred— had taken a needle and popped her bubbly persona.

 

“Sup, dude!” she tried to crow, but it fell flat. Or it seemed that way to him, at least. Cas smiled warmly at her and she folded him into her arms. Benny did the same before they both leaned down and attempted the awkward bed-hug. The fact that Dean’s arms were out of commission did no one favors. 

 

They stayed for an hour, enough to lighten Dean’s sour mood and make him forget about It for a while. They left balloons and some flowers in their wake; poor substitutes for their company, but they had places to be and the world didn’t halt for Dean Winchester and his problems. 

 

Other friends stopped by to visit him, too. Ash and Jo came by for a little bit— Dean hadn’t seen either of them since before their sophomore year of college but the thought was appreciated nonetheless. Rosie spent a whole day with him and the family (well, that’s not quite a fair way to put it. Rosie was family. She spent a whole day with him and the _rest_ of the family). The shock in her eyes when she watched a nurse fill up a feed bag and the fluid ran through the tube in Dean’s nose made something shrivel up inside of him. While Rosie was important to him and Cas— had been for years— his relationship with her was largely based around food. Food as a pleasure, food as an indulgence, food as the spice of life. But here in this room, it was reduced to nutrient mush. He hadn’t eaten actual food in over a month, he realized. Everyone was quiet for the rest of her visit. 

 

Dean was going to miss her.


	13. Chapter 13

He woke and immediately wished he hadn’t. Every fiber of his body was still exhausted; this was the first he’d slept in days. He hadn’t even realized he’d fallen asleep until he scrunched his eyes open to the small, drab world around him. It took a moment before he realized what had woken him— whispering. The awful type of whispering that was yelling in everything but volume, when two people were nearly ready to come to blows but trying to keep quiet.

 

“I haven’t seen much of him in years! Is it too much to ask for a little alone time with my brother?”

 

“”Keep your voice down. This is the first rest he’s gotten in awhile, Sam.”

 

“Yeah, you wanna know why that is?” It was strange, this sort of anger coming from Sammy. For an eighteen year old, he was typically abnormally level headed and rational. Right now he was all illogical bitterness and enmity. Cas, on the other hand, just sounded tired. 

 

The sigh didn’t need to escape to imbue his next word, “Why?”

 

“Because he went to Africa with you! He didn’t even want to go, he just did it to make you happy. And look where it got him, Cas! He’s sick because of you. I’m going to lose my big brother any day now and it’s your fault.”

 

Dean loved his brother, he did. And he felt guilty for the pain he was causing him. But the things Sam was saying weren’t okay in any way, shape, or form. 

 

Dean groaned to announce that he was awake. “Sammy, stop it.” 

 

Both of their attentions snapped to him. Their crumpled foreheads smoothed out immediately, fire in their eyes doused in an instant. 

 

Sam tried to pretend nothing had happened. “Hey, man, how you feeling?”

 

“I’d be better if you weren’t tearing into my husband.” His words were still slurred with sleep but his brother clearly got the message. 

 

“I—”

 

“I don’t really want to hear it, dude. Stop it. Cas didn’t get me sick, this is no more his fault than mine. Okay?”

 

“But— but he—” Sam floundered. He looked at Dean as if he was crazy for not blaming the blue-eyed man tearing up on the other side of the bed. 

 

“Sam. You need to leave,” Dean commanded. And while Sam was over 6 feet tall, broad shouldered and muscly, the order turned him into a sad little puppy. The look tugged on Dean’s heartstrings but Cas looked like he was about to fall apart in just a moment. His moose of a brother dragged his feet as he did it, but he did leave the room as requested. 

 

Cas sniffled hard once the door clicked shut. Dean made to grab his hand but his arm refused to move. 

 

“Babe, this is not your fault,” he said. “He’s wrong, I’m telling you.”

 

“No, no— he… he’s absolutely right. I’d— I had realized it before, and now he’s said it, and—” he kept rambling under his breath, but the words got lost before they could reach Dean.

 

“Cas. Cas, baby,” he interrupted him. “You can’t blame yourself for this. I didn’t get sick because of you. None of this is your fault, angel. None of it.”

 

“Did you really only go on the trip because of me?” Cas asked, his voice small. He clamped his mouth shut after the words slipped out and peeked up at Dean through his lashes. 

 

He had. Or, at least, he only intended to. Volunteer work was never really Dean’s thing and he was content to spend the summer in Lawrence, but he had known just how happy it would’ve made his then-boyfriend. Once he’d gotten to Nigeria, though, and spent a few weeks having his eyes opened to an entire world he’d never thought could have existed, he realized just how important it was to him to have gone. 

 

“Originally? Yeah,” he murmured. Cas’ bottom lip started to tremble. “But,” he hurried to continue, “I really did want to go. It seemed cool, even before we went, even if my main reason for going was to see how happy it’d make you. But then we got there and I had the time of my life, baby. We got to help a lot of people, and we learned a lot. I wouldn’t go back and change that even if I could. I might not be happy about all of this, but I’m not dying with regrets, Cas.”

 

“Not any?”

 

Well, one regret. But it wasn’t that he’d gone to Nigeria. No, his one regret was that he’d never have any chance to get closure with his father. Before he could respond, a nurse tapped his knuckles on the door before opening it. He carried a syringe, a bag of feed, and a clipboard; he looked tired. “Hey, it’s lunchtime.”

 

Dean ignored him, instead turning his head so he could stare at Cas full on. Blue gaze flicked nervously up from the floor to meet his— with all the determination in the world, Dean shook his head back and forth. _No regrets_. 

 

The nurse shooed Cas to the other side of the bed so he could perform his tasks. 

 

“You okay?” Dean asked his still teary-eyed angel. He got a shaky nod in response and smiled sadly at him. “It’s not your fault, baby,” he whispered one more time. Cas looked like he needed a minute. “Hey, why don’t you go get a coffee or something? You look tired.”

 

“So do you,” he retorted, but there was no energy behind it. He took the out, though, and headed for the door. 

 

“Can you get Sam for me while you’re out there?”

 

“Of course.” The door made no noise as he slid it shut, leaving Dean alone with the nurse. It was tense, Dean kept expecting the guy to say something. Instead, he carried out his duties with ruthless efficiency before he, too, left. Dean was left with the hollowness of the room, A/C and monitors his only company. He’s pretty sure he dozed for a few minutes, fading in and out of a nap until Sam came in. 

 

“Dean—”

 

“No, I need to say something first, Sammy.” Sam nodded. “You’re one of the most important people in my life. That’s never gonna change. But so is Cas, you understand? He’s been with me through every step of this. He went to doctor’s appointments with me. He put up with it when I was slamming cabinet doors and getting drunk because I was so pissed this was happening to me. He made vegetable mush for me when I stopped being able to eat real food and he took on extra hours at work when I stopped being able to. I didn’t see you coming out to help with any of that.”

 

Sam looked bewildered. “But I—”

 

“But I didn’t expect you to, because you had school and everything. But Cas didn’t have to do all of that, and he did. He’s going through just as much hell as you and you don’t get to lash out at him just because you’re upset. You get me?”

 

“I’m sorry,” his little brother tried. In that moment, he seemed very, very small. 

 

“I’m not the one who needs an apology.” 

 

Tears fell from Sam’s eyes. Dean felt like he should feel… something. Anything. But there wasn’t anything there; he was only going through the motions of having feelings. 

 

Sam took a shivering breath and nodded. “I know. But hurting him hurts you too.” He leaned over Dean in some sort of attempted hug. “I’m gonna go find him. You should try and get some sleep, I’m sorry we woke you up.”

 

“It’s alright. Go on, you big girl.”

 

He heard later from his mom that the brothers-in-law had patched things up and hugged it out in the canteen. The image brought a smile to his face; at least he’d been able to do that right since landing in here.

 

◎❃◎

 

“Do you think,” Dean started, opening his eyes from a failed attempt at a nap, “Do you think there’s any chance of getting in contact with Dad?” 

 

Mary sighed and set her knitting needles down on the little table beside her chair. “Do you really want to?”

 

“I don’t know, I— I think I just want to see him, and show him that no matter what he thought… you know, about me, or about where I’d end up— I want to prove to him that he was wrong. I want him to know that I’m happy.” It was as he was saying it that he realized. His father would probably always have had an effect on him; it was only in the past several years Dean had realized how many behaviors and opinions he’d picked up from the man. But now he was, at least, free of the expectations his father had placed upon him. He was no longer bound by John Winchester’s opinion of him. 

 

“I have the phone number he gave me through his lawyer. I have no idea if it’ll still work or if he’ll agree to come see you, but… if it’s important to you, I’ll try.”

 

“That’s all I can ask.” She smiled at him. “Thanks, Mom.”

 

◎❃◎

 

Today marked four months since his diagnosis. It had been a week since Cas and Sam’s fight. His birthday was only five days away, but if things continued on the same pattern they had for the past four days, he’d still be awake for it. He couldn’t get through a sentence without a yawn and the world started swimming before him at random intervals. He was tempted to ask for sedatives again if only to get some shuteye. There was no exhaustion he’d ever felt that compared to this. 

 

According to Dr. Moseley’s predictions in November, he should bite it any day now. He might not even make it to 24 years old; how depressing was that?

 

This afternoon marked one of the rare occasions where his whole family was in the room with him. Mom talked with Cas about his job while Sam pored over what looked like a psych textbook. 

 

“Dean?” Mary asked, sounding as if she’d been trying to get his attention for a little while now. All three of his companions stared at him concernedly. 

 

“Hmm? What’s up?”

 

“Sweetie, are you alright?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, just… just tired. Zoned out. I’m fine.” On second thought, it really might’ve been worth having someone drug him. Just enough for a little nap, though a full eight hours sounded like heaven right about now. “Actually, could somebody hit the call button for me?”

 

Three people jumped to their feet and nearly trampled over one another in a race to be the first to press the button. It was pure pandemonium. It took a few minutes before anybody showed up, time that Dean had to spend assuring everyone that he wasn’t moments away from meeting his end. (Well, probably.) 

 

The nurse went to get him an Ambien and Dean looked around at his frantic family.

 

“Okay, guys, I need you all to promise me something,” he said. “I’m on my way out. We’ve known for a while now that it’s coming. But you’ve all gotta be okay when I go, alright?” He pointed his gaze at Mary. “Mom, you keep taking care of Sam. You’ll still have a son who needs you.”

 

For the first time since she’d found out about his diagnosis, he watched as she broke down completely. The men with working arms rubbed her back and tried to comfort her but it didn’t do very much good. Eventually Sam folded her into his arms and just held her there, running a hand through her hair and assuring her it would be alright. 

 

“Sammy,” Dean continued, and waited for his brother to meet his eyes. “You’re only 18. You’ve got three and a half years of college in front of you, you’ve got your friends, you’ve got Jessica. I’m only one person. Don’t let me ruin all that for you, okay? You go out, you live your life. You be a kid. Promise me.”

 

Sam’s voice was thin when he rasped out, “Okay. Yeah, Dean, I promise.” 

 

A different nurse came into the room in the silence after his words. Her aqua scrubs and fake-cheery smile were stark and terrible in their sobriety, but she did come bearing medication. Sensing the mood of the room, she shuffled over quickly and passed him the paper cup containing the magic yellow pill. He tossed it back, swallowing it dry, and she nodded before darting out. The drug would probably take about an hour to set in, so Dean decided to make the most of this last burst of energy before he passed out.

 

Dean turned his head to look at Cas, whose teeth dug into his lip and eyes were wet. “Please don’t ask me, sweetheart. Not this. Anything but this.”

 

“Cas, you know I have to. I can’t go without knowing you’re gonna be okay.”

 

“Well that’s too bad!” he cried. “That works in my favor! You can’t go, you don’t get to go. You can’t leave me behind, Dean. You can’t. You can’t, I won’t let it happen.” 

 

Sam stood abruptly, tugging their mother up with him. The two of them slipped out of the room, leaving Dean and his husband alone. 

 

“Cas, baby—”

 

“I’m going to be all alone,” Cas whispered. “You’re going to die and leave me all alone. You’re all I have, Dean.”

 

“That’s not true,” he rushed to counter, “that’s not true. You’ve got Benny and Charlie, you’ve got my mom, you’ve got Sam… you’re not going to be alone, angel, I swear. You just can’t cut yourself off from everyone. You stay in contact with people, alright? Please, please don’t stop living on my account. Can you do that for me?”

 

He choked and nodded. “I— I think so. I think I can.”

 

“Good, that’s good. And you can’t start hurting yourself again either, you hear me?”

 

“Okay.” A sort of numbness was starting to settle into his eyes and Dean knew he was losing him. The guy was probably about 30 seconds from shutting down.

 

“Hey, you believe in angels, right?”

 

He looked up sharply. “What?”

 

“You believe in angels, don’t you? Y’know, halos, wings?” The confusion was evident on his face but Cas nodded. “And you think I’ll go to heaven, don’t you?”

 

“Of course, Dean, you’re a good man.”

 

“Well then who’s to say that I won’t get my feathers then come down here to watch over you, huh?” He tried for a smile. It came out a little weak, but it was better than nothing. “I’m not gonna leave you entirely. Not a snowball’s chance, I love you too much.”

 

Cas squeezed his arms around himself and sniffled. 

 

“Alright, c’mere. I can’t hug you right now, as much as I want to.” He resolutely ignored the way his eyes were dripping tears down his cheeks while his still-shaking husband pitched forward over top of him. 

 

“I love you too. I love you. I love you.”

 

“Shh, it’ll be okay, babe. It’s okay.” He wasn’t sure if the words made it through Cas’ hiccups but he said them nonetheless. “Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?”

 

Cas caught his breath and wiped the tears from his face. “Always,” he said, before placing his head over Dean’s heart. It was still beating.

 

◎❃◎

 

It was his birthday. As a joke, Sam had printed off a picture of a cupcake to tape to Dean’s feed bag. It lightened the mood a bit, considering he was having a difficult time moving his jaw to speak today. 

 

This really was the end, wasn’t it?

 

He wasn’t sure if he’d ever get used to the fact. Then again, he didn’t have much time left. It didn’t really matter if he was used to it.

 

Around five o’clock, Sam and Mary started to look antsy. After a few tries to get the words out (and even more time spent arguing with them), he finally persuaded them to go home. There was no convincing Cas, though, who climbed into the bed with him and smoothed the hair off his forehead. He hadn’t gotten the brownish strands cut since before the hospital.

 

“I have a bad feeling,” his husband said. “Like I’m going to fall asleep and when I wake up in the morning you won’t be here anymore.”

 

“Then don’t fall asleep.”

 

Cas sighed. The act took his entire body with it. Dean was able to smile a little at the way a tuft of ebon hair fluffed at the movement; Cas always did do everything completely. “I think it would be worse to have to watch you go.”

 

He had no response to that. Quiet filled the space between them like water in the lungs of a drowning man, and with every electronically monitored heartbeat it wore on him more. Eventually, Dean blurted, “Will you recite something for me?” Cas looked a little startled, and he tried to explain, “If I do croak tonight I want to hear you one last time before I go into the light.”

 

“Anything you want.” It took him a minute to think of one, but once he did, his voice turned smooth like cream in coffee, and you could practically see the words dripping slowly through the air like honey. “Ah! Sunflower, weary of time, / Who countest the steps of the sun, / Seeking after that sweet golden clime / Where the traveller’s journey is done.” His expression turned disturbed. “Sorry, this one’s sad. I, uh, I memorized it around the time we came back from Africa. It’s mostly about a traveller wanting to find eternity. And sunflowers, obviously.”

 

“It’s okay, honeybee, you recite all the sad poetry you want.”

 

“Or quotes? Sometimes I just get excerpts.”

 

“Quotes are good too.”

 

They whiled away about an hour like that, Cas providing lines and Dean commentary. 

 

“Perdition catch my soul, but I do love thee, and when I love thee not, chaos is come again,” his husband yawned. “Before you ask, yes, it’s Shakespeare. Othello.”

 

“Haven’t the last three been Shakespeare?”

 

“It’s not on purpose! You recite a poem, go on,” he laughed. It shook his whole frame; Dean hadn’t seen him smile that hard since before his diagnosis. “Let’s see… I know I know other poets. Um… what about Neruda?”

 

“No clue who he is, but sure.”

 

“Which ones were by him? It was smoke… and drops of— I think it was despair? Or no, not despair. Um—”

 

“Don’t strain yourself. You can tell me later.” _We’ve got all the time in the world._

 

The grin melted off his face like wax under a flame. Neither of them needed to say it, but Cas did anyway, “Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore, so do our minutes, hasten to their end.”

 

“I love you,” Dean said in response. “How about you get some rest?”

 

“Don't leave me, even for an hour, because / then the little drops of anguish will all run together, / the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift / into me, choking my lost heart,” Cas said instead. “Don’t leave. Promise you won’t.”

 

The words tasted like a lie on Dean’s tongue, but he uttered them anyway. “I won’t leave you, baby.”

 

That seemed to settle him, because he bobbed his head firmly and yawned one more time before closing his eyes. 

 

The bad feeling had spread to him. Some part of him, buried right inside his chest, knew that he’d be gone before midnight. The hourglass was empty. There would be no more tomorrows, no more sunrises or sunsets, no more poking fun of his brother. He’d never get a chance to reconcile with his dad. His ‘just one more’s had run out. 

 

He stared at Cas. How long had they known each other? Five and a half years or so? Somehow, in that time, this unbelievable man had knitted his soul to Dean’s own, made himself a part of him. He tried to memorize every feature of his face and found it impossible, since he’d already done it. He knew the little wrinkles already on the sides of his eyes, could trace the curve of the cupid’s bow of his lips with his eyes shut. In five and a half years (approximately) Dean had never been able to find the best words for the color, the texture, the habits of his perfect hair. 

 

In five and a half years, give or take, Cas had never failed to send butterflies fluttering in every part of Dean’s body, landing and sipping nectar from the tips of all his nerves. His raw passion for things he cared about. His heart of gold. Surely no person on earth had ever been so lucky as to meet someone with even a tenth of the character of the man Dean Winchester had been so lucky to love. 

 

The fickle hand of sleep tugged at his eyelids. He would not wake up once he gave in. 

 

He let his eyes slide shut, just for a moment. He opened them again.

 

They fell closed of their own accord, this time for a moment longer. 

 

And one more time, with his husband resting half on top of him, with a thin cotton blanket pooled over his hips, with no one to witness him but four walls and a threadbare chair, he let sleep carry him away. 


	14. ART

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so I'm kind of sorry, but not really. As always, I own nothing. Kudos, Comments, you know the drill if you've ever read an author's note before. I hope you guys enjoyed this! <3


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